Red Rover, Red Rover (HIATUS)
by TheCatalystx
Summary: When you're on your own at the age of sixteen, you have bigger things to worry about than attending class. Sometimes you just need to escape reality. Especially Savannah, who does everything she can to pretend that her life doesn't belong to her. But when she's dragged back by the fangs of Derek Hale – literally – she surfaces to find that reality isn't at all what she expected.
1. Bad Day at Beacon Hills

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf. I only own my OCs, and there will be a few that come around.**_

 _ **A word of warning: I edit this shit like crazy. Seriously. I edit it a lot. So don't be surprised if you come back a few weeks from now, or even tomorrow, and this first chapter is totally unrecognizable. I apologize, I'm just of the opinion that a story can never be edited/improved enough. (Partly why I write fanfiction...) So anyways, keep that in mind.**_

 _ **Rated M for language, adult themes, violence, etc, etc.**_

 _ **Also, my OC is a little rough around the edges. Just sayin'. Thank you for taking the time to read this note and my first chapter! All right, let's get started...**_

* * *

I was the perfect candidate.

In hindsight, I checked every one of Derek's boxes. I was entirely isolated. I had few friends, if you could call them that. No family to speak of. A physical hindrance: namely, a limp. My home consisted of an abandoned mattress in a vacant apartment building on a ghost street. No one would miss me. I would seemingly gain everything from taking the bite, and lose nothing. Most importantly though, I had shut all my feelings down. Swallowed them up with pills. Destroyed everything that made me human and liable in any fashion. So if I'm already dead, what did either of us have to risk?

Perhaps in a way he might have felt like he was saving me, along with Isaac and Erica and Boyd. Or maybe not—I may be giving him too much credit. I can respect a smart business move when I see one, and that's what I was to him. What we all were. A safe, smart, gainful product that he could use at his discretion.

I was the perfect candidate. And I never saw it coming.

* * *

 _"You can expect some sunshine for most of today, so make sure to take advantage of it while you still can because those Pacific winds will be blowing in a cold front in the next couple of days. That means: plan for rain! The forecast for…"_

One of the waitresses reached up to switch off the television. A few patrons at the counter protested, saying they hadn't even gotten to the news yet.

"You want the news?" The older woman snapped, her hair frizzing out of its ponytail as she untied her apron. "I'll give you the news: Karl's Diner Loses Employee of Twenty Years Because He Can't Keep His Filthy Hands Off Her Daughter—"

A man from the back poked his head out rowdily, waving at the woman, and it was difficult to make out exactly what was said between their yelling and cussing.

I pulled a pill bottle out of my vest pocket and popped it open, shaking three tablets out. Then I held them each over the top of my coffee and dropped them in. Giving it a quick stir, I tapped off the excess and then reached down to my waffles and plucked up the dollop of whipped cream between the spoon and my thumb, transferring it over to the full mug of coffee with a wet plop.

I sucked the whipped cream off my thumb and watched as a younger waitress nearly passed out in anxiety when her older coworker stormed through the kitchen door and noises of dishes and pans clattering to the ground cut over the diner.

Most patrons waved it off and turned back to their own conversations. One of them got up to turn the television back on, and I took a sip of my coffee and pursed my lips when I realized it was tepid, at best. A grumpy old man snapped at the younger waitress that his coffee tasted burnt.

I smirked when she looked ready to burst into tears and immediately began apologizing, which he was unreceptive to. He told her to go get some more if she's so sorry.

I could see the fear clear as day when she glanced back to the kitchen and imagined going in there. As if to echo the thought, a platter of eggs and grits smacked the door of the kitchen and it popped open just long enough for us to catch a glimpse some of the destruction before it swung shut again.

She squeaked something at the man and scurried away. As she passed me, the door of the diner opened. I began to cut into my waffles and was just taking a large bite when a boy around my age approached my booth. He held his hat between his hands, ever the gentleman, and briefly greeted me.

"Please," I said, waving my hand to the seat opposite me. "Join me."

His eyes were trained on all the noise coming from the kitchen, and he seemed hesitative as he gripped his hat.

I snapped my fingers. "Jimmy," I said, and he whipped his gaze back to me. "Sit down."

"Oh, yeah," He shook his head to himself and slid into the booth, placing his hat to the side of the table. He watched me finally take a bite of my waffles as we sat in silence and I waited for him to speak. He just stared at me like we were already having a conversation—one that was clearly happening in his mind. Almost as if he was rehearsing. I'm crippled; not stupid, I can see his nerves have frayed him.

I raised my eyebrows, chewing the slightly bland waffle as I waited for him to finally say something. He just stared at me and then looked over my meal, shifting uneasily. I pursed my lips and shook my head. "Speak."

"Oh—sorry—I, uh, got a lot on my mind."

"All right, that's great, Jim," I patronized, scratching at my nose but then twirling my finger impatiently through the air. "Tell me you have good news."

"I can't do it anymore," He blurted.

The noises of the diner filled our ensuing silence. Knives and forks scraped plates, men took slurps of coffee, women cackled and the television was advertising for a nearby car lot. Jimmy looked afraid but resolute, as he stared at me with his chin up and his fingers nervously twitching.

I breathed out a forced laugh. "Excuse me?"

"I—I can't push those pills anymore, Savannah. I'm not getting anything out of it; things have changed."

I set my fork down and pushed away the plate, leaning back in the booth. "Okay… So what? This is one of _those_ conversations? You trying to ask for a bigger cut? Because that's not gonna happen, Jimmy, it's just not there. Now, if you'd start selling to the lacrosse team, like we discussed, maybe we—"

"No, Savannah, you're not listening to me. You aren't _hearing_ me. I. Can't. Do it."

I opened my mouth and he cut his hand through the air with a firm shake of his head.

"No, no," He amended, finger raised. "I _won't_ do it."

"Wha—" I scoffed, shaking my head with an agitated shrug. I looked him over for the first time since he'd entered the diner. He wasn't as skinny as before. At first, I thought he'd looked like shit, because he smelled like last week's take out and he looked like a strung out junkie. But his face was fuller and his teeth were the cleanest I'd seen since we met. I squinted an eye and sat back, my chin up. "Did you kick it?"

He seemed sort of proud, growing less flighty and more still as he gave a slight nod. "Yeah… yeah, I did."

I sighed heavily and pressed my fingers into the top of my eyes, rubbing my face.

"My life is—I mean, I feel _good_ again, for the first time in a really long time, Savannah, and I can't—" He clenched his fist and knocked it against the table top, as if articulating his feelings was difficult to do. Or maybe he was just afraid of my reaction. "I can't _push_ that crap to those guys anymore. It's fucking with my head again, and—and I don't want that anymore! Can you understand that? I mean, do you see where I'm coming from?"

"Fine," I said through clenched teeth, smacking my hand onto the table to shock him into silence. I drew in a breath through my nose and tried to rein my temper in as I lifted my hand and tightened it into a fist. " _Fine_. Stay clean. Whoever said you have to use the product you sell? You think those models on the Viagra commercials are having performance issues?"

Jimmy blinked and shook his head, slightly confused. "I think the implication is actually that her partner—"

"Jimmy." I leaned forward to catch his eye and he abruptly stopped talking. I shook my head. "I don't give a shit. We had a deal. We had a system. You can't back out on me."

"Okay, fine, you know what? It's not even really about me being around it! It's what it's doing to the guys I'm selling it to! Okay? They are—they are _changing_ , Savannah. They aren't doing it for fun anymore! It's not like I'm passing around a joint! This is—" He broke off because his voice had raised too much, glancing around with a tight sigh. He looked back at me and leaned in. "This is getting too real for me. Some of them are starting to depend on it."

I shook my head and shrugged. " _Good!"_

Jimmy sat back with a frustrated sigh and seemed slightly disgusted, shaking his head at me.

"Jimmy that's _good!_ We'll have regulars, so what? What's the big deal?"

"I can't do it," Jimmy shook his head and grabbed his hat and I scoffed and threw my hands up.

"What?" I cried, and as he started to leave, I reached up to stop him. "Wait! Wait, wait, wait."

He looked back at me and I muttered to myself, tilting my head back and forth as I settled into my booth and mulled it over. Interest piqued, Jimmy slowly lowered back down to see what I had to say. I tapped my fingers together and touched them to my nose.

"Okay…" I said. "Okay. I can respect your boundaries. We won't sell to them anymore, okay?"

Jimmy seemed relieved as he nodded and set his hat back down, relaxing into the booth. "I'm glad to hear you say that." He paused as I ran a hand through my tangled hair and shifted. "I have to admit, I thought I was going to have to fight you a little more on this. You know, maybe you should—"

"What about this," I interrupted, my hands splayed. Jimmy's mouth hung open and he seemed unsurprised as I continued. "Your job."

He raised an eyebrow and I waved him off.

"No, no, your _other_ job. The one at the ice rink." I waved my hands and he looked unimpressed as I tried to play it up. "Huh? We could—"

"No," He shook his head and shifted in frustration. "No, Savannah, that wouldn't work anyway."

"Well why not? Just—hold on a minute—"

"I was fired, okay?"

My mouth hung open as I processed this, and I stared at him as he sighed through his nose.

"I went to work fucked up and I left the machines running all night. I left everything on in the café, I passed out on the ice. I left the Zamboni on in one place for so long that there's a ditch in the middle of it now!"

I snorted and then immediately schooled my features when Jimmy glared at me. I reached up and rubbed my nose, tilting my head for him to continue. "I—I mean, I didn't realize that. That blows."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm lucky my dad talked the owner out of any charges. My point is," He sighed. "Savannah, I'm done. I can't keep going this way. I lost my job, my dad found out about— _everything_. Do you get it yet?"

I let my hand drop to the table and scratched at my head. "Yeah," I shrugged, and Jimmy seemed relieved. "Yeah, I get it. That sucks."

A beat passed and I tapped my fingers on the table until I couldn't stand it.

"So you probably need some cash though, right?"

Jimmy stood from the booth.

I threw my arm out but he just shook my hand off. "Wait! Wait I don't mean like that! I mean, I could loan you some and then you could just work it off and—"

"Goodbye, Savannah." Jimmy pulled his red baseball cap over his head and shoved around me to start down the aisle.

"Jimmy!" I whisper-screamed, as people had started to turn around and see what all the fuss was about. I glanced between them and Jimmy and swayed slightly in my spot as my knee started to give. " _Jimmy_ ," I hissed, and he didn't even pretend not to hear me as he shoved out the door and let it slam behind him, the little bells tinkling loudly.

Everyone was staring at me. I shuffled unsteadily on my feet and coughed awkwardly, turning back to my booth.

 _Shit._ I grabbed the top of the table and lowered myself back into the seat with a loud sigh. "Son of a bitch," I whispered aloud.

What am I gonna do now? Jimmy was my sure thing. He was the face that people trusted. He was the one who brought in new buyers. He could use his status in school to convince people in an effortless way that I simply don't have.

Before him, I had to make it seem like I was doing it _with_ them. Like we were just some friends who were partying a little. And then once I got them high out of their minds, I would spout some shit about being low on funds, and nine times out of ten they'd offer me at least _some_ cash to cover their cost. Sometimes I could even squeeze out a little more than necessary. But that takes a long time—it takes networking and making nice, something which uses a lot of my time, and a lot of my money, and more charm than I typically possess on a given day.

I started to feel sick to my stomach as the reality of my situation changed again. Jimmy and I had a good thing going. I was pushing more than ever through him. I had more cash than I knew what to do with. I'd even been thinking of trying to find a real apartment, somewhere I could pay under the table. But still, illegally paying for an apartment would mean power and utilities; luxuries that I don't have where I'm squatting now.

Jimmy thinks _he_ has problems. I snorted bitterly and picked up my coffee to drink it all in one go, and the skittish waitress from before approached me.

"Hi, my name is Brenda. I know that—that um, Samantha was serving you earlier, but," She gestured over her shoulder with her pen. "She, um, had to step out. So that means I'll be taking your order. Or, you have your order, what I mean to say is if you need anything—"

I stared up at her as she fumbled with her notepad and almost dropped it. Suddenly, things might be looking up for me. I cleared my throat and brushed my hair back, plastering a large smile on my face, and the aftertaste of my coffee felt thick on my tongue. "Brenda," I smiled, and she relaxed slightly. "Nice to meet you, I'm Carly, and I come here a lot. This is the seventh time I've seen Samantha _step out_. She'll probably be back by tomorrow morning, at the latest." (Lie. Never been here in my life. I was just trying to get her to trust me.)

The girl sighed and beamed at me, tapping her pen against her notepad. "Oh, that's great to hear." She paused and then leaned in. "This is my first day."

I raised my eyebrows and pretended to be surprised. "Really? You're a natural!"

She nodded and then looked over at my table, shaking her head. "Thank you, that's nice to say, but I know it's not true." She breathed out a laugh and I grinned and squinted my eyes with a shrug. "Oh! I'm supposed to ask—" She smacked her head. "Do you need anything?"

I touched my plate and nodded. "A to-go box for these would be perfect, thanks," I grinned, scrunching my nose. She told me she'd be right back with my check, and I tried not to twitch as she left.

I plotted what I was going to do for the rest of day, watching the street out the window. By the time she returned, the man in the back had yelled at her for something and I'd reached my decision. She dropped the to-go box on my table and then she suddenly recalled that she didn't have my check. I laughed at her and told her not to worry; take her time.

As soon as she went to go wait on another customer, I was out of there. I limped as calmly as possible and then let the door shut behind me.

* * *

Slinging on the streets is easy. Slinging in school? That's a whole different game. It takes patience, and charisma, and a lot of jokes. I didn't have time to butter people up or pretend we were just a bunch of pals having a good time. In this case, I would have to do it the old fashioned way: trying to people think _they're_ getting the deal.

"Listen to me, Gretch." I grabbed the volleyball player by her shoulder and pretended we were old pals discussing a secret, leaning in conspiringly. "This kind of product goes for five, easy."

"Five what?" She asked, and I fixed her with a grim stare that didn't actually mean anything to let her fill the blank for me. She gasped and her eyes grew wide as saucers. "Five _hundred?"_

I shrugged.

"Oh, well, I mean… I don't have that kind of cash, Savannah."

"Yeah, I know that," I snorted, flicking her shoulder in good humor. "Who do you think I am? I'm cutting you a deal, here. This stuff will make you happier than a kid going to Disneyland. Let's say… thirty bucks."

"For the whole thing?" She exclaimed, and I snorted loudly.

"No! You idiot, I just said—" I broke off when she seemed to take offense. Rolling my jaw, I stepped away, a little awkwardly due to my limp. "Okay, forget it," and she reached after me.

"Wait!"

I grinned, my back still to her.

She sighed loudly. "You said that this stuff is good, right? I can use it for Dom's Pharm Party?"

I turned back, letting her see my smile. "So you want two, then?"

She shook her head. "Four."

I tried not to fall over. _Idiot_.

* * *

I sighed tensely, counting out my cash against the windowsill I perched on, cigarette hanging from my lips. It was just after lunch. When kids come out here to the courtyard, they come here for one thing: to score. They know when I'm here that I'm slinging. Gretchen had spread the word through the hallways, bragging about her deal she'd gotten, and she was so happy about it I wondered if she decided to keep all those pills for herself after all.

The kids trickled through the doors after that. Most of them, I could tell it was their first time. They had no idea what to expect. I was able to make a little more than usual off of them. Others wanted to know why Jimmy wasn't in it anymore, and I made the point of asking whether they were interested in any or not. They took the hint.

No teachers noticed. Or maybe they just didn't care. I don't think they really paid much attention to us kids, actually. Beacon Hills isn't exactly known for its attentive authority figures. People can get away with things shockingly easily—especially high schoolers, and I don't think anyone wanted the school to find out what was going on.

The courtyard wasn't technically school property anyways. Due to the fountain, benches, and tables that had been bought and paid for by the Parks & Rec department, it sort of made the courtyard the city's property. Strange, right? I dunno if it's true, actually. It's something I heard once from the principal while he was smoking in the parking lot and talking on the phone. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

I wrapped a rubber band around the roll of cash with a satisfying snap and shoved it into my pocket. Then, I flicked my cigarette into the dirt and heaved my good leg over to stomp it out. Limping across the courtyard, I looked around to be sure no one was watching as I approached the hedges.

I ducked through the part where the hedges and chain link fence had been cut away and emerged on the other side. This sidewalk spanned the side of the school. It went up the road to where another sidewalk crossed it, and would eventually lead to the entrance and parking lot. The other direction, however, led deeper into the seedy underbelly of Beacon Hills. Once you get past the thicket of trees, of course.

I didn't get past the thicket of trees. There was a man standing in them, watching me from across the ditch. I frowned at him and turned to keep walking on, trying to cover my limp as best I could.

He started following me. So instead of heading back to my usual spot, like I had intended, I kept going straight and told myself that he was just heading to town like the rest of us.

I had hoped to feel better about being tailed when I got into some traffic, but it turns out that being shadowed didn't leave much room for comfort. It really freaked me out when he disappeared after I passed the CVS. I should have been relieved. He'd probably gone inside.

But something about him… he was so determined. You know the feeling when you can definitely tell that someone is watching you? The way the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you can feel their eyes following you no matter where you go in the room? That feeling gripped me as soon as I laid eyes on him, and it wouldn't let go, even after he'd disappeared.

I decided to be safer than sorry and headed down an alley. He emerged at the opposite end, and I turned to bolt.

I couldn't run fast, you know? It's one of those things about having a bad leg. It makes fleeing danger pretty fucking tough.

I cut across traffic, my heart beating wildly in my chest as horns blared at me. He just kept coming. My feet almost got caught over the edge of the sidewalk as I decided to jump on it and follow it down to the main strip of down town, and he shouted at me.

A moving van was backed up to a restaurant that I was quickly approaching, but the man was gaining on me faster than I'd hoped for. Panic set in and gave me a little more speed as I burst through the men who pushed cases and boxes of meat into the nearby alley, and they hollered at me as I frantically hobbled.

The man followed closely behind, accidentally knocking some cases down and drawing a lot of attention. But he just kept coming. His legs pumped furiously, his arms moving in tandem, and he breathed like a professional sprinter.

Or… a cop.

The thought spurred me on. With a surge of adrenaline, I doubled my speed, and then quickly hung a right down an alley. It was rather short, and I followed it to the end just as he popped in the entrance. He yelled at me as I disappeared around another corner, fear gripping me at how close he was. My leg was screaming in pain. No matter how hard I pushed it, the tendons and muscles just wouldn't cooperate.

Soon, it would lock up. I burst out the end of some other alley just as a pedestrian was crossing, and I tumbled after tripping over their feet. They called out in surprise and worry as I tumbled across the pavement and rolled to a stop in a crumpled heap, the styrofoam box of waffles spilling onto the dirty asphalt below me. Figures.

The man hung back in the alley, having stopped when the pedestrian quickly joined my side to help me to my feet. He looked straight at me, and as he turned away, I realized who he was.

The last time I'd seen him, I was drugged out of my mind. I barely knew what my own name was—let alone how to keep track of new faces, but I remembered his scar. It cut his eyebrow, and I thought it was attractive. His name was—

It was… it started with a K, anyways. I think. I watched him, glaring at me as he retreated down the alley and the pedestrian helped me stand on my own two feet. My dealer must have sent him. Somehow, they know that I'm slinging their shit.

I sighed heavily and blinked when the pedestrian pushed something at me. I looked down and immediately snatched my pill bottle from his hands.

"Wouldn't want to lose that," He said, and I blinked at his face, actually taking the moment to look him over for once. "Why was he chasing you?"

I know him. I squinted at his dark features—dark hair, dark leather jacket, dark facial hair… light green eyes, young. Not as young as me, but not old. College-aged.

"Derek Hale," I blurted, my mind a bit slippery in all the excitement. He immediately frowned and stepped away from me, his face hardening.

"How do you know my name?"

I blinked and shook my head, my mouth open. "You—used to go to school, right?"

He raised an eyebrow as if that was a stupid question, and I know to most it probably seemed that way. But Derek had dropped out. I remember hearing about his family dying in a fire or something. It had been one of those horror stories that kids my age traded around campfires, or late at night in the dark when we wanted to freak each other out. People made jokes in poor taste about still being able to hear their screams at night if you went near their house out in the woods. And now they tell similar stories about my family, I'd bet. Kids suck.

And during the subsequent silence following my question, Derek had backed away from me about five paces. He stared at me with a troubled expression. "How do you know me?"

"Stories," I shrugged, shaking my head. "Kids. You know how it is…" Also, he'd been sniffing around the school last year—particularly McCall and Stilinski. I remember noticing him sneaking about during one of my rare visits to class. It takes one to know one, and all that, right?

"Should I listen to the stories about _you?_ "

That shocked me. "You know who I am?" I asked, this time a little more bitter and a little less casual.

"Aren't you going to thank me?"

I scowled. He's one of _those_. "Thanks," I blandly said, and then turned to limp away. Everybody wants to be a hero…

He followed me. "Where are you going?"

"Away," I dodged, and he easily caught up to me.

"Aren't you hungry?"

I frowned at him. "Excuse me?"

"You dropped your breakfast." He pointed behind us to where my waffles were still splattered across the pavement. I stared at them for a moment and then turned back to Derek.

"Karma," I simply said. "They were shit anyways. Go away."

He blinked at my frank tone. "What's your issue with me?"

"You're bothering me," I said. He just stood there. I shifted, my temper flaring. "Are you serious? Thank you for scaring away the baddie. Now stop following me, it's weird."

He scowled. "You're welcome," He said, equally as annoyed. I scowled back.

"Fine!" I snapped.

He rolled his eyes and turned away, and I watched him stalk down the sidewalk. I didn't turn my back until I was satisfied he'd left for good. Then, sighing heavily, I started the long trek home.

I was so exhausted, and my knee hurt so much, it didn't occur to me that this was a stupid plan until I was already at the mouth of the alley. I tossed back another two pills with a grimace, and then I grew still.

The place I'm squatting is an abandoned apartment building. Most of the windows were boarded up. There was a dumpster near one window that hadn't been boarded up, though. So, I smashed the glass out and laid down a blanket to prevent any unnecessary damage, and climbed through by using the dumpster as a lift.

That's my spot. Inside there's a thick pad of abused cotton with springs jutting out that passes for a mattress, and a nice stash of canned food. But right now, the same man who had followed me from school was leaning against my dumpster.

He flicked his cigarette on the pavement when he saw me. _Fuck. Why did I come here?!_

"That wasn't very smart, alley-cat," He taunted as he away from the dumpster, as if reading my thoughts. In his hand, a knife flicked out of its cover.

Panic gripped me and I exhaled roughly, gearing up to scream as I turned to run. A hand clamped over my mouth and someone grabbed me, sealing my arms against their chest with their iron-tight grip. I thrashed furiously, but the stranger just whispered in my ear and laughed. I think he said something about having a little fun, and the whole thing felt so much like a scene from a movie that I felt sick to my stomach.

If he would just let up a _little_ , I could reach my pocket. I pushed against him and stamped his feet as hard as I could manage, my knee cracking in pain that made my vision tinge black for a moment. I felt the cool, sharp tip of a blade biting at the back of my neck and immediately froze. One of them laughed in sick amusement.

The one holding me cursed at me and started to turn me around—but then he stopped.

"What the fuck—"

I couldn't see anything behind me since I was still trapped against this one's chest, but I heard the distinct sound of someone getting punched in the throat and losing their breath. Then a brief fight ensued—if you could call it that—and something hit the ground. The knife, maybe, it was just happening so fast—and suddenly the man who'd been stalking me all morning was thrown into the wall in front of me.

His limp body sagged down to the ground and I drew in a ragged, confused, terrified breath. The man holding me was babbling almost incoherently with fear, and he immediately let me go and pushed me away with his hands up.

"T-Take her!" He cried, and I fell to my knees as my leg finally gave out. I turned to see who it was, but he moved fast.

 _Too_ fast. The other guy turned to run, but he was stopped as the man easily caught up with him. He made it look natural as he grabbed the man by the back of the shirt and swung him around into the wall.

The pair of my assailants lay at my feet in an unconscious heap. I stared at them, my chest heaving, unable to look away. My eyes saw what was happening, but my mind couldn't quite translate. I looked up and I didn't feel like anything was cleared up as Derek Hale stood over me with his hand offered out to me.

I stared at it with a confused, overwhelmed scowl on my face. He shook it impatiently. "Come on," He said. "It isn't safe for you to stay here."

"Who are you?" I demanded, and his face remained stoic as he retracted his hand and lifted his chin.

"Derek Hale."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "I know _that_. I mean… are you a cop?"

This amused him greatly. He minutely smirked and shook his head. "Not exactly."

Frustrated, I had to stifle a growl. "What does that even mean?"

"Can't you just be grateful and thank me?" He snapped, his mood abruptly shifting to that of anger. He gestured at the two men who lay before me like he was presenting evidence to a court. "I saved you!"

"Look around you," I angrily exclaimed, gesturing to the abandoned building, and the trash-covered alley, and then to myself. Skinny, tangled and dirty—a druggie. "People don't do shit like _this_ for free."

Derek watched me, his face still annoyed, but something about the way his posture changed told me that he was beginning to understand. If only a little bit.

I shook my head at him, not moving an inch from my spot on the ground. "Not around here, they don't. Not without expecting something in return. So why did you do this? What do you want from me?"

He stared at me, the glower frozen on his face. But he offered nothing. He just stared. It made me _furious_.

And I finally snapped. I was overwhelmed with terror that still stuck in the back of my throat—and adrenaline from running—and pain from my knee—and frustration from Jimmy—and the overwhelming feeling that I'm about to _crash_ and _burn_ , and this dude— _Derek_ —keeps popping up and demanding that I kiss his feet for butting into my shit, and I just started turning out my pants pockets.

Change fell out with a lighter, and lint and a bobby pin fell out of the other. I started with my jacket and pulled out a taser, tossing that to the ground and ignoring Derek when he shifted in surprise at the sight of it. I didn't stop; I kept patting myself down, reaching into my vest and tossing down my pills, then to the other pocket that held my wad of cash, and I threw that down, too.

"What?" I shouted, and he stayed very still as he watched me have a break down right in front of him. "That's all I've got. You want it? How about this? You want some of these? _What?_ What do you _want?"_ I threw some of the change and my lighter at him, but he easily sidestepped them and they sailed across the alley behind him.

He shook his head, and I cut him off.

"You think I'm gonna do anything to you?" I seethed, snatching up the taser as I got my feet under me to stand. "You think I'm gonna stay right here on my knees and give you a _proper thank—"_

 _"No!"_ He seemed outraged that I would even insinuate such a thing, actually taking a step back in disgust, and I just laughed bitterly.

"I won't!" I continued, because I didn't believe him. "I'm never going to sink that low!" At this point, I'd become somewhat feral, and Derek didn't seem to quite know how to react. "You can go _fuck_ yourself!"

"Savannah!" He finally cracked, his voice loud and sharp like a whip that broke through my hysteria and froze me in place. " _Stop_."

I panted, having gotten to my feet at some point. The taser was held between us like it was my shield, and I watched him with my chin tucked and mouth parted as I huffed and my hands shook. Quietly, almost inaudibly, I whispered, "I won't."

Derek's eyes were on the taser. "Why didn't you use that on them?"

My eye twitched. "I was going to," I angrily defended. "I was."

He sighed then, losing all tension in his stance. It was such an abrupt change that I hesitated, my fingers tightening briefly on the taser. I didn't move an inch and kept my gaze trained on him as he tossed something around in his head before speaking.

"You don't belong out here."

"What?" I scrunched my face. Is he serious?

"It's too dangerous."

"I _knew_ it." I immediately backed away, lifting the taser like a gun instead of a shield even though he didn't move a step towards me. "You're a fucking cop!"

Surprisingly, he seemed frustrated and tired as he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not a cop."

I was about to comment, but he looked back up at me and his eyes were glowing bright red, and his face was shifted unnaturally as he bore his teeth at me, and I shot the taser on instinct. The little metal darts whizzed out and pierced his chest before he could so much as breathe, and he immediately seized as the electricity clicked through his body. I had about thirty seconds, so I dropped the gun and turned to run. _Again_.

* * *

I ran until I couldn't anymore. And then I kept limping. Derek didn't follow me, and I don't know if that's because my taser knocked him on his ass, or because he was sick of me altogether.

The reality of my situation sank in slowly. I threw everything at Derek. Which means I have no money, not even pocket change, because I threw it all away. I have no pills, except for the ones I've already taken today. I have no weapon, because I left that stuck in Derek's chest. My safe spot has been compromised. Which of course means I have nowhere to sleep tonight, no food to eat, no roof over my head. The ones my dealer sent after me won't stay unconscious forever, and now they have every reason to come after me.

I don't even have those shitty waffles anymore! In the span of five hours, my life has completely hit rock bottom. Except I refuse to fold. This isn't rock bottom. I've been to rock bottom, gotten personal with it, made friends with it. Let it change me into someone who can survive down there, until I was finally able to drag myself out of it. This is just a set back. _This_ is not rock bottom.

I still have a meal today. See? That's the good news. I moved through the cafeteria at school with my hood up and my head ducked, not looking anyone in the face. My hands shook; from what, I can't say, but they shook as I picked up a tray and let the lunch lady pour me a bowl of hot soup. Tomato soup and grilled cheese was on the menu today. On any other day, I'd say I hate tomato soup and grilled cheese. But today I love it. I grabbed six packets of crackers, scowling at the lunch lady when she hesitated as if to try and stop me. She just watched as I stuffed them in my pockets and didn't say another word as I turned away.

I grabbed a banana and stuffed an apple in my other pocket. I felt people's gazes on me, but I ignored them. When I went to check out, the lunch lady told me I'd have to put back either the apple or the banana.

"Why?" I frowned.

"Your account is overdrawn."

"So just charge it," I said, my temper rising.

She shook her head. "It's been charged past five dollars. I can't charge anymore until it's paid."

People were starting to notice. I shifted uncomfortably, my fingers tightening on the blue tray until my knuckles turned white. "Seriously?" I asked through clenched teeth.

She shrugged unapologetically. "I'm just following the rules."

I grumbled under my breath exactly what I thought of her _rules_ as I made a show of picking up the banana and smacking it against the counter. The temptation to just shove it in the pocket of her apron was almost too much to resist. Almost.

I snatched my tray and stalked to the silverware, spilling part of my tomato soup. When I went to finally grab a table, I didn't pay attention to which one I chose. Not that it mattered. No sooner did I sit down, the one or two people who had been seated there got up and left.

I let it roll right down my back like water to a duck, furiously slurping at the salty red broth. As I tried not to think about where I was going to sleep tonight, a hand placed a banana on the table by my elbow. I jerked my elbow back defensively, glaring up at whoever placed it there on instinct.

Stiles Stilinski stood over me. I looked him over—his brown t-shirt that had a witty one liner sprawled across the front tucked under his grey jacket, and clean white adidas shoes—and kept quiet as he looked down at me.

He didn't say a word as I looked back down at the yellow fruit, slowly swallowing my soup with a thick throat. "Thanks," I muttered, snatching it up.

"You should try being nicer to the lunch ladies," He suggested, barely even squirming under my intense gaze. Stiles glanced back at his friend Scott, who was watching with an almost proud expression as Stiles cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. "They'll let you take whatever you want next time."

"Yeah?" I said, looking him over again. This time he did squirm. "I'll keep that in mind."

He visibly waited for the other shoe to drop. I simply turned away from him and continued to sip at the vile tomato juice in my bowl. Stiles muttered something and then turned away.

"Oh, Stilinski!" I called, and he turned back to look at me. "Happy birthday. Right?" He blinked at me and I cleared my throat as the stunned silence stretched between us. Growing uncomfortable, I muttered, "Okay, well see you in English. Or whatever." I felt his gaze on the side of my face as I picked up the greasy grilled cheese and ripped a corner off. Apparently he decided that commenting beyond a disbelieving thank you was unnecessary, because he turned away and finally went to join an equally surprised Scott.

* * *

I didn't make it to English.

Or, well, technically I did. I made it into the class and sat down long enough for my stomach to turn over. My forehead was coated with a cold sweat. I felt overheated, and the nausea in my stomach was so intense, you'd think I had been on a boat for the past hour.

I barely made it to a toilet in time. All of the tomato soup and greasy grilled cheese I'd stuffed in my throat came back up. As if things couldn't get worse, I couldn't stop thinking about where the hell I was supposed to go tonight, and whether or not this was truly an illness (which I couldn't afford right now) or if it had just been the tomato soup. Or if maybe all those pills I'd taken finally kicked back. Or if it was simply a result from the run of bad luck I'd been hit with today.

I knew I'd need meds again soon, but there were other sources for that type of drug. Plenty of them, in fact. I prayed that I wouldn't have to see those men again. I prayed that Derek had scared them off. I also prayed that I wouldn't have to see _Derek_ again, and for a brief moment, I felt thankful that he'd shown up when he did. Whatever his reasons were, he saved me. I squashed those feelings of gratuity just as quickly as they came.

I don't need to owe anyone anything. That's the fastest way to getting yourself arrested on the streets—or worse. I took solace in the fact that I wouldn't have to see Derek again. And that comfort lasted for about ten hours, until I saw him again.


	2. Bad Luck, Continued

**_In case you're curious, I picture Savannah to look like Lola Leon circa 2013. When she has dark hair. It's a question that comes up a lot..._**

 ** _Enjoy!_**

* * *

Grief groups. Support groups. The first step to rehabilitation, according to the California Judicial Branch. It was mandatory that I attend these meetings. Either I attend the meetings, or I'm sent off to juvy, so, you know… Here I am.

On the upside, I'm planning to see if I might find a place to crash tonight. The meeting had finished. We went around the circle this time. I was relatively new to the group, so I hadn't really been forced to share as of yet. But apparently I reached my limit for my adjustment period. Teresa, our fearless leader (read: overbearing bitch) encouraged me to share a bit about myself.

I'd gone over the basics. My name is Savannah Carmichael. I go to Beacon Hills High School (sometimes). Yes, I'm Hispanic. People get confused about that, apparently. I'm one of those people that look 'exotic' but also incredibly average, I guess. I'm grieving my parents and my brother is missing, and the judge thinks when I get into trouble I'm lashing out. After I thought I was done, Teresa went ahead and made me touch on my day.

I told them that I got food poisoning from the tomato soup at lunch today, and they laughed. At least someone can find the humor in my life.

When it was over, I stood at the snack table and picked up a chocolate donut. It felt like a little cinderblock coated in chocolate. I tapped it against the wooden table and it sounded like I rapped my knuckles across it. Distastefully, I threw the donut back onto the pile and sighed heavily.

"Here," A deep voice said behind me. I turned to see Danny, from school. He held a cup of something steaming out to me. "I got it from the diner across the street. It's not the best, but it's better than this crap."

I raised an eyebrow and glanced over the little buffet of week old food behind me and then took the cup. "What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" I asked, in a way that emphasized the cliché nature of my question.

Danny snorted and rolled his eyes, turning away as he shoved a hand in his pocket. "Same thing as everyone else. Listening to other people's sad stories so mine doesn't seem so existentially critical."

I mockingly frowned and looked up at him. "Wait, is _that_ what we're supposed to be doing? I thought this was a book club!" He snorted and I pretended to wince. "Whoa, you guys have shitty lives."

Danny nudged his elbow into my arm. "I'm here because I help run it for one of my classes."

I sighed heavily and mentally rolled my eyes. "Danny, you're so good I think our time would be better spent canonizing you as a saint."

He smirked. "I'm not dead yet. Besides, I think there's _one_ detail about me that the Catholics would look down on."

"Yeah, what's up with all those v-necks? They're so racy."

He outrightly laughed at that, and then we paused as an awkward silence came over us. I sniffed and looked down at the coffee in my hand, sipping at it busily. It warmed my empty stomach and fooled it into feeling full.

Truthfully, Danny and I hardly ever speak. Like, ever. So it stands to reason that he's approached me for something in particular. I'm just waiting for him to finally ask whatever it is he wants to ask.

He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet, tossing a glance over his shoulder. "So, listen, I should get back before Teresa has a fit, but I did want to thank you."

I snapped an incredulous look up at him. "Huh?"

He grinned at how surprised I was. "You know I'm friends with Jimmy, right?"

I scrunched my eyes and glanced away thoughtfully. I hadn't, but… in that case, what the hell does he have to thank me for?

Before I could comment, Danny pressed on. "I know that Jimmy was doing some… stuff for you. And I hated to see him like that. So, just, thank you for not making a huge deal out of letting him help himself and quit."

I took a long drink of coffee as he continued.

"He was so worried about how you'd react. I kept telling him that you'd be cool about it, but he was so convinced that—" He broke off, apparently thinking better of finishing that thought. I smacked my lips and raised my eyebrows at him, secretly reflecting on how backwards Danny seems to understand the way this morning had truly gone. He pressed his lips together briefly before continuing. "Anyways, his dad is really coming down hard on him. Since he's the district attorney, I think his instinct is to make Jimmy work for it, but that's his son, you know? It's gonna be worse than ever trying to see him at all. I used to meet him at the ice rink but now—well… you know."

Something in my mind clicked. I parted my lips in realization and lifted my chin as I looked at Danny, raising my cup to point at him. "You and Jimmy…." I said, dropping my chin suggestively.

Danny glanced away, almost bashfully, and shrugged a shoulder noncommittally.

I tilted my head back again. "Ohhhh," I realized, looking him over. "Not bad, Jimbo!" I teased, and Danny rolled his eyes with a grudging smirk. "But you could do better, Danny."

He sighed and shook his head. "Anyways, his dad found out about everything. Your business," He glanced around in paranoia and dropped his voice as he said the rest. "The drugs. _Us_." Danny sighed heavily and stood back again. "It was explosive. I thought Jimmy was going to do something bad. But then, once his dad forced him to get clean, everything else slid into place."

I tried not to let my resentment that everything seemed to be _sliding into place_ for Jimmy effect my reaction, but Danny must have seen something in my face. I can't help it. Jimmy screwed me over. "Well," I started, trying to find something to say, but came up empty. Danny's smile grew tight and I took a drink of my coffee to fill the silence.

"That's all I wanted to say," Danny admitted, less than enthusiastic now that he realized I wasn't going to jump up and down and gush with him. "I'll see you at the next meeting, okay?"

I huffed and shrugged a shoulder. Danny patted it and then turned just as Teresa called his name, and I rolled my eyes to myself. He doesn't get it. Jimmy helped me sling, nothing more, nothing less. We weren't even really friends. Danny is a sweet guy, obviously, but he's a little naïve to the ways of the world. I think Jimmy must have sugarcoated our meeting this morning to stifle Danny's concerns.

I smothered another sigh because I didn't want to be whiney, and looked over the buffet with a critical gaze. My stomach rumbled and I considered picking out a donut because they looked so good, but having nearly broken the table with one earlier, I decided to forgo those and pulled the apple out of my pocket.

It seemed that night had finally fallen by the time I made my way onto the street. The parking lot was emptying quickly, members from my group either climbing into their own vehicle or going to wait at bus stops.

As I hobbled along, I mentally went over different areas across Beacon Hills that would be a good spot to rest in until morning. The apple I was eating mixed strangely with the coffee Danny gave me, but they were more than I could have hoped for, and probably more than I would have gotten without going to the meeting tonight, so I wasn't going to be picky about it.

Along one of the streets there was a parked car. The lights were off but the car was clearly running, and I could see the silhouettes of two men sitting inside. I kept an eye on it as I passed, but my paranoia really didn't kick in until I saw the lights turn on after I was a few steps down the sidewalk from them.

The engine turned and I picked up my pace. Behind me, they revved it loudly, and my mind immediately turned to the men from the alley. My heart took off at a sprint, and I stumbled slightly and dropped the apple and coffee to run as the car's tires squealed against the pavement.

I heard some people from the meeting asking what the hell was going on as I fled, and then the car tore out of its space and took off in the opposite direction. When it pulled away I stumbled to a halt and watched it blast through a nearby red light, narrowly dodging oncoming traffic and causing somewhat of an uproar as it blew through.

I knew that whoever it was, they were some of my dealer's people. At first I was confused why they made such a huge show of following me if they were just going to take off anyways, but then I realized that they were trying to make a point.

They knew where I went. Since I _have_ to come to these meetings, they knew where to find me. And that guy tracked me on my walk home from school, which means they even know which routes I take. The hairs on my arm stood at end as the reality of the situation started to sink in, and I realized that the tactic they took just now scared me even more than kidnapping me would have, because it occurred to me that I wasn't safe, regardless of where I went. And they felt they had all the time in the world, apparently.

I didn't know where to go without risking them following me. I didn't know what to do.

So, as some of the members from my support group started to come down the sidewalk to ask me what happened, I turned my back and quickly limped away with my hood up.

* * *

In Beacon Hills, abandoned warehouses are a dime a dozen. Especially in the _warehouse_ district, which lay only around four or five blocks past where my meetings are held. Unfortunately for me, they're usually locked with huge chains. So when I came across one about twenty minutes after I left my meeting, I knew it would likely only frustrate me to even think about checking the doors.

But I was out of options. Out of time. Out of luck. So, call me masochistic, but I went to check the windows to see if any were broken. It's a risk to break windows, even if the building is abandoned, because there's always the chance that the alarm system is still intact. The entire bottom level of windows was boarded up. The second story had a few windows that had already been shattered, but there was no way I could get up that high.

I sighed heavily and was about to turn away, deeming the situation a bust, when I glanced at the fire escape on the side of the building. The door didn't have any chains. Sure, the ladder was rusty at best, and a death trap at worst, but clearly someone had recently been around.

As I approached it and looked at the ground, I had to step over a long strand of heavy-duty chains. The padlock lay, useless and broken on the cracked pavement. It breathed some hope into my situation. From time to time, people are known to break into these warehouses to take whatever materials might be left behind and then turn around and sell them to metal yards or pawn shops for quick cash. It's not a bad idea, actually. Desperate times, and all that.

So after an incredibly stupid and brazen climbing adventure, I perched at the top of the corroded stairs and held my breath as I reached out to try the door. It took some persuasion, but the old thing finally cracked open and I practically burst through the doorway.

I didn't realize that I would immediately have a new set of stairs to go down, but given that I just had to scale a fire escape to get inside, I probably should have guessed.

My bad luck held true as I tumbled down the flight of stairs with a loud yelp, knocking some things that I couldn't see clearly down with me. I had hoped for a quiet, stealthy entrance, but apparently those were two words that a cripple and a druggie simply couldn't embody, because I think I shattered some glass and knocked over some loud, clanging metal objects on my way down.

I lay at the bottom of the stairs, groaning miserably. The warehouse was pitch black. I didn't have a flashlight with me. I didn't even have any moonlight to go by, since the stairs ended in what must have been an underground floor. You'd never guess by looking from the outside that this place went underground, but here I am.

"Son of a _bitch_ ," I muttered, rubbing at my aching body with a little whine. I peered around with wide eyes in the dark, but I couldn't see a blessed thing. The darkness was all consuming. I couldn't hear much, either, aside from what sounded like little rat feet scurrying around and squeaking in far corners of the huge warehouse.

Well… if those drug dealers wanted to corner me here, they'd have a pretty easy time subduing me at this point. I felt like I'd been tossed in a dryer and put on the most aggressive cycle available. My palms and knees were skinned, my joints ached like you wouldn't believe, and if the crunch under my ass and back was anything to go by, I found that glass that I'd knocked down.

I hissed under my breath and was picking myself up when I heard was sounded like a foot brushing across the dirty concrete a few feet away. I froze.

My heart hammered in my ears, making it difficult to hear much. "Who's there?" I demanded, making my voice strong.

Another sound of a foot brushing the floor, followed by a thud, and then silence.

I grunted as I pushed myself onto one knee, carefully avoiding the other. "Don't get any ideas!" I warned, patting the ground blindly behind me until I felt my fingers brush across the smooth surface of glass. I carefully plucked the shard off the floor with a scrape, holding it out in front of me. "I've got a knife! Just back off, alright!?"

A loud crash came from my left and I screamed and scrambled backwards, the glass cutting my hand. I didn't stop moving through the pain until my back hit the bottom step, and I dragged myself up a couple before I stopped. I looked all around as if I could see anything, but I couldn't. It was shadowy and impossible to even make out shapes beyond the occasional edge of what might have been giant crates or carts of some kind.

Something was flung through the air. I heard it sailing straight for me and I jerked my foot back and tried to climb even higher as whatever it was smashed into the bottom step and bounced away with a loud crack.

"Stop!" I called, my voice betraying me and sounding alarmed. "Just leave me alone!"

My hand stung sharply, and it was warm, as if the glass had certainly sliced it. I held it over my leg and stopped myself just short of wiping it across the fabric of my jeans. That's just _begging_ for an infection, but it was the last thing on my list of things to worry about as I finally saw a flashlight beam click on across the warehouse.

The footsteps had sounded so close, but my depth perception was definitely muddled as I saw the beam stream out of what looked like a train cart and bounce over a rusted barrel that sat a few feet in front of it. It swept across the floor, illuminating paper bags and miscellaneous trash, crawling across pavement littered with dirt and sparkling with shattered glass.

Aluminum cans and paper crinkled under a boot as someone stepped out of the cart slowly. When they turned, some of the light from their flashlight bled upward and illuminated the faintest edges of their face. Just enough for me to make out a strong chin covered in short facial hair and the tip of a straight nose.

"I said stop!" I exclaimed, aiming for threatening but landing somewhere closer to panic. The figure slowly made its way towards me. It passed the barrel, taking slow, deliberate steps that seemed to taunt my jittery movements as I backed over the steps and cursed myself for ever having thought of trying to break into a place that was clearly already broken into.

Then, as if to frighten me, the light flickered off. I froze and struggled to hear over my frantic pants. I couldn't even hear footsteps anymore. My eyes darted across the warehouse and I pushed myself up another step, probably about halfway from the ground at this point. Something kicked whatever had been thrown at me across the floor, and it clanged against the bottom step and sent tremors through the metal under me and drew an involuntary yelp from my lips.

A pair of red, glowing eyes suddenly blinked to life. I gasped and my body completely seized in terror when a deep growl rumbled across the vacant warehouse. It sounded unnatural… savage. Predatory.

The light flicked on again and blinded me for a moment and scared me so badly that I threw my hands in my face and almost lost my balance. I barely managed to catch myself on the railing, and the cut on my hand stung like I just smeared a shit ton of rust inside it.

"How did you find me?" The man demanded, and my ears strangely identified the voice as Derek Hale's. Hesitantly, I squinted through my fingers and tried to make out his face through the light that was focused on me.

Sure enough, his angered face scowled up at me. I gasped and blinked in confusion. "Derek?"

" _Answer me!_ What do you want?"

He stepped onto the bottom step as if to come after me and I flinched, which made him pause in his movements.

"Stop!" I begged, shaking my head. "I didn't know! I didn't know!"

"What?" He snapped, looking at me like I was crazy. It was hard to filter my thoughts into coherent sentences because he was acting like a fucking psychopath and I'm not entirely sure he's not going to try to murder me tonight.

"I thought this place was empty! I just needed somewhere to crash, _Jesus!_ " I paused and took a trembling breath. "What the _fuck_ are you?!"

"Savannah," His tone seemed to have switched entirely. It was such a sudden change that I grew still and watched him warily from my spot on the steps as he focused the light at his feet. Lying there, broken on the ground, was my stun gun. I was still breathing unsteadily, my heart pounding against my ribs, terror still racing through my veins and making me sweat profusely. He bent to pick it up. "Here," He said, holding it up at me.

I gawked down at him. "Why did you fucking throw it at me?"

He cocked an eyebrow. Derek was so calm, it made me feel like I might be over reacting, but I'm not stupid. He was straight up menacing two seconds ago. Now he's looking up at me like I need help. "I'm _handing_ it to you," He said.

I shook my head wildly. "No, _no;_ you _threw_ that thing at me! Before! When I told you to back off!"

"And you said you had a knife?" He smartly finished. I hesitated, my mouth open. He dropped his hand back to his side, the stun gun still in his grasp. "Well, I actually tossed it to you. But apparently you couldn't see that."

"It's impossible to see in here without a flashlight," I snapped. I didn't appreciate that he was making it seem like I was an overreacting pussy. I know how it went down, and he didn't just gently toss me that thing. Right?

Derek shrugged a shoulder. "I've been down here for hours," He admitted. "My eyes adjusted a long time ago."

My mind flashed back to his glowing red eyes. "What's wrong with them?"

He scrunched his eyebrows at me and stepped back, as if to leave me there. I didn't move to follow him and he only took a few steps before pausing again. "Do you want your weapon back or not?"

I snarled a lip at him. "It's broken now; keep it."

"Well what about the rest of your stuff?"

I perked up. "You have it?"

He sighed. Looking back at me, he shone the light on me again and I squinted as he gestured for me to follow him. "In here."

I weighed my options. I could leave. I probably _should_ leave. But he's got my shit… my money. My pills. My broken stun gun, the only protection I have. It's also a pretty good spot to crash, if Derek has been hanging here for hours and I didn't even realize it until he terrified the snot out of me.

So, against my better judgment, I pushed myself to my shaking feet and slowly descended the stairs. Derek kept the light to where I could see where I was stepping.

I could feel his gaze on my skinned knees and bloodied hand, hear the unasked question pass between us, but I didn't speak or offer him any explanation as I limped my way over to join his side. Wordlessly, he offered me the flashlight. I peered up at him with a wary gaze and quickly snatched it from his hand, immediately taking three steps back.

If anything, he seemed slightly amused at how distrusting I was, and I simply scowled at him.

"Why do you need a place to crash?" He asked, as I turned the flashlight around the warehouse and took in the sights.

It was definitely the abandoned train depot. I wondered how I'd missed the tracks outside, but that was obviously an abandoned train cart that sat across the middle of the ground. Derek moved easily through the dark, as if he could see every single crack in the cement and knew exactly where not to step.

It was a bit unsettling, how naturally he moved through the dark. I kept an eye on him as I slowly trailed after him. "You saw those guys in the alley," I kept my voice low, my instincts warning me not to draw attention to myself for some reason. (You know how sometimes it just seems like you should be whispering? Even if there's no obvious reason why?) "They weren't exactly my friends."

He snorted dryly and disappeared inside the cart. I sighed and lingered outside, not particularly anxious to follow him inside the thing. "Well then you're lucky I came along when I did," He said, apparently not sharing in my qualms about speaking at a normal volume.

I resisted the urge to growl under my breath. "We're not going through this again," I grumbled, and Derek suddenly stuck his face back out of the cart.

"You coming or not?"

I narrowed my gaze at him. "I don't trust you," I blatantly said, and Derek actually barked out a faint chuckle.

"I _know_ ," He flatly said. I just stared at him until he sighed and shook his head at me. "Fine. Don't move."

I didn't have a chance to reply when he ducked back inside. The warehouse was calm now, no less eerie than it was when I first fell in, but certainly less threatening with a light in my hand to direct wherever I felt like something was waiting in a corner to hiss at me.

It turns out there really wasn't anything else to be seen down here. A rat here and there, but as soon as the light would hit one, it would scurry away with a tiny screech of fright. I sighed through my nose and directed the light back to the cart.

"How did you find this place?" Derek asked from the cart. I shone the light across the outside of it, trying to spot him through one of the windows.

"The same way you did, I guess. I was looking for a place in the warehouse district that wasn't chained shut. This place fit the bill."

Derek stayed quiet and I heard him rummaging through something. I listened as he flipped something shut, and my curiosity about him started to grow. Why is that he seems to turn up when I need help the most? Why is he so willing to help me? Why is here down _here_ , alone?

The man in question popped back out of the cart and I turned the light back on him just in time to see him holding out a bag. I frowned at him and hesitantly reached out to take it, my annoyance spiking at his unreadable expression.

He watched as I sat the bag on the ground and popped the flashlight in my mouth to go through its contents. My cigarettes. My pill bottle, which I shook to hear if any had gone missing, my eyes glancing up at him—none had—and I set that down beside cigarettes. I tilted my head and pushed aside my lighter to pluck out the roll of cash.

As I unwound the rubber band from it, I made sure to be as noisy and obnoxious with it as possible, my eyes fixed on him pointedly. He just watched me, stoically, as I unrolled the cash and made a show of flipping through each bill, my lips faintly moving as I counted it out.

I pursed my lips when I found that it was all there. Finally, as I rolled it back up, I muttered a thanks and Derek turned away as I began to fill my pockets again.

The wind blew outside, causing a faint whistle to blow through one of the windows overhead. I clenched my teeth and balled up the bag, tossing it back at him. He caught it without looking, and inwardly, I grimaced at how naturally athletic he seemed to be.

Derek pointed over at a spot in the warehouse, but I didn't look away from him as he spoke. "Hungry?"

Seriously? I sighed heavily and shook my head. "I don't understand you," I admitted, and he crossed his arms at me.

"At least we can agree on something."

I scoffed smartly and raised my eyebrows at him, flashing him directly in the face. He closed his eyes and turned away, but I swear to God for a brief second, they reflected like a cat's. The smile grew stiff on my lips as I stared at him. "I think I'm just going to go."

"At least take something for your hand." Derek pointed at the hand that still dripped blood onto the cement, and I immediately turned it around to face away from him.

I shook my head. "Don't worry about it. Thanks for not stealing my shit." I turned to leave and Derek shifted irritably behind me.

"Why are you being so stubborn?" He asked, and I paused to flash his light back at him.

"Stubborn?" I snorted, and tilted my head at him. "Dude, don't take it personally when I turn down your help. It's how I survive. I can't trust anyone out here, do you get that?"

His eye almost seemed to twitch. "I haven't given you the first reason not to trust me."

I frowned. "Didn't I _just_ say not to take it personally?"

Derek just watched me, and I scoffed again and shook my head.

"Have a nice night," I smartly quipped, and started to leave. Derek called after me and I resisted the urge to groan. "What?"

"Those guys are going to keep coming after you. After you left this morning, I hung around to follow them. The first thing they did is go tell your dealer what happened."

I frowned at him. Part of me wanted to confront him for bothering to follow them. Why the hell would someone do that? As if he hadn't done enough? As if I hadn't tased him? But the bigger part of me was dreadful, because he'd just confirmed what I was already afraid of.

"I can't be there for you every time something like that happens, and sooner of later, they'll catch up to you." His eyes flicked down to my bum knee. "I'm guessing sooner."

My aggravation flared. "Wow," I snidely said. "How encouraging. Thanks for letting me know—"

"It doesn't have to be that way," He said, and I immediately took a step back from him and held my hand up to warn him not to take another step. "If you just let me help you, you won't have to run from them anymore."

"Whatever you want my help with, I'm not interested in having partners anymore." I focused the light on his hands, to be sure that I would catch it if he tried anything, and I also kept backing away. "I can't depend on other people. Other people suck."

He raised his eyebrows. "What a lonely existence."

I rolled my eyes. "At least I'll exist."

He dropped one eyebrow. "But with me, you could do so much more. _Be_ so much more."

I didn't like the tone he was taking. I also didn't like the fact that he started to creep towards me, his hands balled into fists. "Stop," I ordered, keeping my tone strong. He seemed amused at how forceful I was trying to be, and my words did nothing to deter him. He just kept creeping towards me, head tilted, watching me like prey.

"Savannah," He said, and his direct use of my name unsettled me. "Listen to me. If you keep on like you are, you'll be dead by the end of the month."

I scoffed. "Excuse me?"

"Don't try and deny it," He said, shaking his head. "If it wasn't for what happened today, you might have been able to work something out with your dealer. It wouldn't have been pretty, but you had a chance. Since I came along, now you're a threat."

His words started getting under my skin despite myself. I tripped over something and almost lost my balance, which forced me to stop because I wasn't willing to move the light off of Derek, and I would have to if I wanted to keep walking without falling.

"You've got people who will protect you. Or so they think. You've got the upper hand. And they can't do business with punks like you stealing their customers and turning a profit without their ever seeing a penny of it." He shook his head, and drew to a stop about two arm's lengths away from me. "They can't let you go now. And they know where to find you, don't they?"

I sneered, wishing with all I had that I could deny his words. Pretend what he said isn't true. But he was right. He was right.

"Why the fuck do you care?" I wanted to know, my voice breathy with tight emotion. "You don't even know me."

"Oh, but I do," He grinned, like a wolf closing in on its prey. "I _do_ know you. You're Savannah Carmichael. You're all alone in the world. You're on your last leg— _literally_. Soon, you'll run out of pills, and _then_ you'll really be in trouble, won't you? Food," He paused to tilt his head for dramatic effect. "Food, you can get by on school lunch. But pills?" He shook his head and tutted. "That's a little more tricky… isn't it?"

" _Fuck_ you," I spat, unable to disengage if I wanted to, because Derek pushed all the right buttons with this speech. Ruffled all the right feathers. "How can you know all that?"

"I can _smell_ it," He practically sneered, a comment that seemed to make zero sense, but something told me I didn't want to know what he meant. "I can smell your dependence from a mile away. You _need_ those pills. It's not just for the pain anymore, is it?"

I flinched, the flashlight jerking. He seemed to grow taller as I shrank, creeping a step closer. I felt stunned in place, powerless to tear myself away.

"No… You're resourceful though, I'll give you that," He admitted, leveling a finger at me. "You found _this_ place. You've got good instincts." He dropped his finger and leaned back to consider me. Derek drew in a breath and paused. "Which… is why I'm going to help you."

I couldn't think of anything to say. I watched him; worried that I would say something that would set him off. Worried that I might not make it out of here alive.

He was close enough to touch me. Derek reached out and grabbed my hand before I could strike him, easily overpowering me. I tried to force myself not to panic, knowing that as soon as I panicked, it would all be over. He drew me closer and his eyes flashed bright red again, and the air sucked out of my lungs and my throat closed up. I was frozen with fear. The flashlight clattered on the ground, casting a beam across our ankles, and he looked over my face.

"Your heart is racing. I can hear it… Do I scare you?..." He wanted to know, dropping his hand down to grip my hip. It made my skin crawl. His fingers tightened to the point of discomfort and I grit my teeth. "What I can do… what I did to those men. Did it scare you?"

I hissed out a breath through my clenched teeth, managing an angry grunt. Derek's grip tightened even further.

"You can do it too," He breathed, his breath brushing across my shoulders and making the hairs on the back of my neck stand at end. "Just say yes. I'll make sure they can never hurt you again. I'll make sure that you never have to answer to anyone ever again. No more living off the streets. No more pills. No more pain… All of it." He paused and looked my face over. "Gone. Not only will all of it go away… but everything else will be better. You can get your _life_ back. Doesn't that sound _good?"_

I looked up at him.


	3. The Tides Turn

I don't care if it hurts,

I want to have control.

I want a perfect body,

I want a perfect soul.

\- _Creep, by Radiohead_

* * *

Something cool and wet dripped on my cheek. I flinched and swiped at it, rolling over in my sleep and trying to ignore it.

It dripped again, this time trailing down the back of my neck. "Eughhh," My mouth curled up in disgust and I swiped at it desperately, praying it wasn't some sort of insect as I shot up. I froze when my eyes fell on an unfamiliar dirty brick wall. I looked down and saw that I was lying on a mound of trash, behind a dumpster in an alley outside a warehouse.

"Ugh," I sighed. "Really?... Not again," the crook of my arm screamed in protest as I slowly picked myself off the sticky pavement. I brushed off some slimy lettuce and broken glass, squinting at the black fabric of my jacket. It looked to be wet and shredded where my arm stung, and upon closer inspection I realized I was bleeding. Immediately, I suspected needles. Honestly, I wasn't _that_ stupid… right? "Please be a cut, please be a cut, please be a cut…" I unzipped my hoodie and slowly peeled it off my arm.

A circle of red dots stood out angrily against my olive skin, and I squinted my eyes and tilted my head. The open air began getting to it, and the wound started to fester. "Fuck," I hissed. "Oh it burns, oh it burns, it burns, it burns—"

I shook my arm out and looked back down at it, my breaths quick and sharp as my mind slowly worked to explain why I am currently suffering from what appears to be a bite mark…

My mind flashed back to the night before, the events flooding my mind.

"Oh, my god." I blinked furiously and gaped down at the stinging bite on my arm. "Why did I say yes?" I hysterically stomped my foot and gestured down at the raw flesh. "Why would I say yes? What was I thinking? That crazy bastard bit me, he actually bit me!"

I looked around the empty alleyway and shook my head. "And now I'm talking to myself." I looked back down and watched as some fresh blood trickled over the dried bits, the cold air causing the wound to throb. "Damn it." I hissed.

There was nothing to be done for it. Unless I had a time machine, there's nothing I could do to change a damn thing now.

So now not only to I have to worry about drug dealers chasing after me—now I have Derek Hale the psychopath who's going to be hunting me, too. _Great_.

I crept to the end of the alley, jerking my sleeve back over my arm and ignoring the tight sting that my arm suffered in response. The streets were pretty slow this morning. That rain that the weatherman had been talking about yesterday morning finally came round, I guess.

I limped up the sidewalk, my hood pulled over my head and my arms crossed gently as I went. I ducked into a drugstore and my eyes flitted about. The cashier sat with his feet up and a magazine in his face, a phone nestled behind the pages in what was supposed to be an inconspicuous manner as he pecked away at the screen with his fingers.

I smiled to myself and casually circled the corner of the aisle with medical supplies. I stopped and glanced around, and upon seeing no one, examined the shelf of first aid kits. The smallest one only had band-aids and antibacterial wipes; not exactly what I needed… the only kit with the supplies I was looking for cost a whopping nineteen dollars, and it wasn't exactly tiny. I sighed and swiped it up angrily.

I quickly ducked out of the aisle and strolled up to the cash register, tossing the kit onto the top of the counter. The bored cashier peered at me from over his magazine, but made no move to scan the item.

I raised my eyebrows and forced a smile. "Crappy day out, huh?" I said, referring to the storm clouds looming outside. He popped his gum at me and slowly slid the magazine closed, his phone now nowhere to be seen. Well, I had to hand it to the kid. He was sneaky. He leaned forward on the stool and grunted monotonously as he proceeded to scan my purchase.

"That'll be twenty-one, oh-five." He held his open palm up greedily and I forced another smile as I slid the cash into his hand. That's the great part about being in the seedier side of Beacon Hills… no one gives a shit around here.

"Keep the change," I snatched my items and quickly fled the store.

"Wait," He called behind me. "Don't you want a bag?"

I ignored him and rushed into the street, scanning the buildings around me. Slowly making his way up from the side of the building was a man with a bandana over his head. He was bulky and I immediately recognized him to be one of the men from yesterday, and my heart jumped in my throat. Cursing, I turned and spotted a McDonald's. Clouds thundered overhead as I tottered my way down the sidewalk. The inside reeked of grease and diabetes, and I strode straight past the counter to the restroom.

Of course, it wasn't empty. That would be too easy, and I purposely avoided eye contact with the few women waiting to wash their hands and slammed a stall shut. I huffed under my breath as I gently closed the toilet seat and held my breath at the smell radiating from the stained plastic.

I tossed the first aid kit down and cursed myself for not carrying a weapon that isn't a broken taser on me as I fumbled with the plastic covering. Bringing it up to my teeth, I savagely tore the corner and peeled the rest of it off, jamming it down the waste dispenser nailed to the side of the stall.

I peeled off my jacket and laid it across the toilet, popped the kit open, and pawed through its contents. I pulled out the largest gauze pads, which were only three inches around, and ripped the packet open.

Hesitating, I peered down at the dried wound. It would likely become infected unless cleaned, but the restroom was full. I sighed to myself and shook my head at my own stupidity for ever giving Derek permission to freakin' _bite_ me as I pressed the pad to my wound. I growled, as it stung sharply, and ignored the tears burning my eyes while I wrapped the cotton wrap around my elbow and secured it with the butterfly bandages from the kit.

It was pathetic, and it probably wouldn't hold or do much good, but it's what I had. I settled onto the dirty floor and sighed heavily.

I picked up the kit and dug through it some more. Band-aids, cotton pads, antiseptic wipes—I pulled out a small, square plastic package and snickered bitterly. Ibuprofen, 8 capsules. I tossed the sugar pills (because that's basically what they are to me) back into the pack and clamped it shut. I shoved my hand into my jacket pocket, where it still lay across the toilet, and extracted my orange pill bottle. I rattled it slightly and relaxed upon hearing the pills inside, popping it open and laying four in my hand.

Their protective coating glittered under the harsh restroom lights and I sighed to myself before tossing them back.

Suddenly, I realized the restroom had grown silent. My eyes slowly dropped from the ceiling, my hand lowering from my mouth, and I cocked my head as I listened. I don't know how to explain it but I… I could feel his presence. I swallowed the pills roughly, dryly.

It was like a pull, beckoning me to stand and find my way to him. I stifled the urge and slowly pulled myself to my feet, turning to face the closed stall.

I stood there breathing, and listening for a moment. I know he's there. I can feel him waiting for me. My heart rate picked up and I reached out with trembling hands, the first aid kit and jacket forgotten on the toilet. I slid the lock back and pulled the stall open, bracing myself for whatever would happen, and looked into the room to see—

Nothing. No one was there with me. I looked at the sinks, all shut off, all still wet from the women who had cleared out. The door was shut and undisturbed. I frowned and cautiously stepped out of the stall, peeking around in the corners of the room.

Empty.

I frowned and looked back at my mess I had left strung across the toilet behind me, sighing in relief and… disappointment? I shook my head to myself and began to gather my things when suddenly, I could hear voices from outside the restroom.

"Your niece, you say? Yeah, I mighta seen her. It's gonna cost ya, though." I stiffened and turned back to gape at the door. There was a pause and then, "Alright, alright! _Relax_. She just came in a few minutes ago. Seemed in a hurry to get to the restroom, didn't even get food before barreling in. I knew she looked sketchy, didn't I say she looked sketchy, Marty? I did! Who? That girl who came in, remember?... What?... Oh, yeah. She's ain't come out yet."

I didn't stick around to hear more as I panicked and ran to the door, but came up short upon hearing the voices grow closer and footsteps echoing across the tiled floor outside. In the back of my mind, it occurred to me that I could hear these men through the walls, as they had been in the front of the restaurant, while the restrooms are situated in the back. Not to mention the fryers and the customers that emitted their own chatter. No way I should be able to hear them, but…

Clicking the lock on the door handle, I backed up and looked around the room frantically, and spotted an open window. I don't recall it being open before, but I didn't waste a second as I scrambled over to it and tugged myself up.

Blinding hot pain seared through my arm as I dragged myself up to the windowsill, but I promptly ignored it and shoved my head through the opening. The footsteps reached outside the door and the handle rattled.

"Hello? Is anybody in there?" A female voice called. My heart pounded in my throat as I desperately flung my leg over the window and swung myself down to the ground. I could hear the key being shoved into the lock in the restroom as I pushed myself off the pavement and crouched under the window. The parking lot was full, but the window was hidden to the side.

I made eye contact with a girl in the drive thru lane. She casually turned upon hearing a thud, and did a double take when she spotted me. I immediately recognized her as Allison Argent. I froze only momentarily, but the sound of the restroom door being flung open and numerous footsteps filling it kicked me into motion.

I flew across the short distance to her car, launched myself across her hood, and broke into a dead sprint. From the corner of my eye I could see the flashing lights of police vehicles, which were blocking the entrance and exit lanes to the restaurant. Confusion surged through me. Had I overreacted? I assumed the men from yesterday were tracking me, but could the police also be here? Either way, I ran in the opposite direction, immediately realizing through the haze of my adrenaline a few things.

One, it had started to rain, and I slid slightly in mud as I hopped over the bushes on the perimeter of the parking lot. "Oh, fuck," I staggered back onto the sidewalk and turned back briefly to see Allison gaping at me as I fled the scene. The rain pelted my hair and my bare arms as I ran, my jacket lost in the stall, and my vest didn't offer any protection from the elements. Or, protection from recognition, as that point goes.

I breathed in panic as I sprinted down the sidewalk and rounded an alley, frantically looking around for an escape. The sounds of policemen yelling into their walky-talkies echoed in the alley behind me, spurring me on.

I flew down the street and it suddenly registered in my mind, as I ran from the police officer in pursuit on foot behind me, that I wasn't limping.

In fact, I had never run so fast in my life. I waited for the burning in my lungs that always accompanied running, or the sharp jolt of pain that would trickle up my knee and into my legs with every impact my foot made, but they never came.

I actually breathed out a giddy laugh and turned to see the officer, who was quickly losing ground behind me. I surged ahead and ran even faster, gingerly testing my speed.

The trail I led was twisted, and complicated to follow, but I knew these streets well—and I was trying to shake the officer behind me.

I heard the squeal of rubber tires against pavement and the wail of sirens as the police officers apparently decided I didn't deserve any breaks, and began to pursue me by car.

I knew I should be concerned about _why_ the police were after me. But my combat boots thudded on the sidewalk, sending waves of rainwater splashing up my calves as I went, and I found that I could care less as I ran—painless, fast as the lightening above me, and free.

The farther I ran, the less buildings there were. At one point I could hear the sirens getting too close, so I cut into a new direction and took off for the woods.

It didn't take long for me to find them. The school blurred past, and the parking lot was full. As I ran, I saw Allison's car just pulling into the parking lot, and briefly wondered exactly how fast I was going as I blurred past and ducked into the woods.

The sirens faded in the distance as I fled, and the thicker the trees grew, the farther away they grew. I let out a giddy whoop and reached up to bat at a branch as I ran, practically skipping, when suddenly something blurred in front of me.

I collided roughly with it and hit the ground violently, the sky blurring above me and the rain on the ground soaking my back. I coughed and tried to regain the breath that was stolen from me as a face I didn't particularly want to see peered down at me overhead.

"Need a hand?" He simply asked.

"Ugh," I sputtered, turning on my side and blinking to try and clear my vision. "Damn it, Derek…"

"I'll give you this: you're quick." He held his hand out to me and I stared at it, huffing as I tried to catch my breath. The rain pelted my face relentlessly and he shook his hand impatiently, much as he had done just the day before. I angrily swiped at his hand and didn't even stumble as he aggressively tugged me to my feet. "And your balance has improved." He noted, looking me over. "But you can't be stupid like that anymore. If you get caught, it's all over."

"Shut up," I hissed, pointing a well-aimed finger at his chest and jabbing it in as hard as I could. It actually seemed to do some damage, and he covered the spot with his hand and scowled at me. "You—you _bit_ me! Are you _crazy?"_

He shrugged at me, unimpressed and just as fed up as I was. " _You_ asked me to!"

"I wasn't in my right mind!" I gestured wildly to my arm and back to him. "You took advantage of me!"

His green eyes rolled. "Please, I _helped_ you. You should be _thanking_ me."

"That's it." I put my hand out and shook my head. "I'm done. No more." I turned my back on him and started to leave, and his hand reached out to gently push me. I didn't even stumble as I rounded him. "Derek, I swear to God—"

"Notice how you didn't stumble." He pointed at me.

"W-What?" I staggered back and looked down at the ground for a moment, hesitating. He smugly crossed his arms. "That's because you push with the force of a toddler! Are your arms inflatable? Can I pop them like a balloon animal if I just—" I reached out and pinched his arm and he quickly clamped down, twisting my wrist back until the bone popped. "Ow, ow, ow, ow,"

He roughly pulled my back against his chest and kept pulling my hand back until the bone actually cracked.

I screeched in pain and let out a shrieking howl of agony, tears burning my eyes. " _Jesus!"_ I exclaimed, and he roughly pushed me away. "Are you _crazy_ —you just broke my hand!"

"And it'll heal." He said calmly, crossing his arms again. I cradled my hand gingerly and hissed at him.

"In a few months, sure," I snarled. "In the mean time, I can't afford to get it reset! You _know_ that! Congratulations, as if I didn't have enough arthritis to look forward to, you managed to fuck me over a little more." My voice lowered as the anger bubbled in my chest.

"Good thing you have those pills to help with the pain," He tauntingly jeered. My fists tightened at my sides.

"Whatever respect, or acquaintanceship, or _mutual understanding_ we had is _long_ gone—"

"What are you gonna do, punch me?" He pointed to my fist, which previously had throbbed with a numb kind of stomach turning pain, but was now clenched into a tight fist. My mouth flopped open and I brought my hand up to my face, turning it this way and that.

Any trace of pain was gone. I gently flexed my hand, and met no resistance. It was fine. Totally, one hundred percent fine. I slowly looked back to him.

"Okay…" I managed. "W-What did you _do_ to me?"

He slowly smiled. "I gave you your life back." He calmly stated, crossing his arms again. "How's the knee treating you?" I looked down and recalled how I could run with ease, no pain to circumvent, no limp to hinder me… "And your senses are heightened, aren't they? Hearing things you should have no humanly justifiable reason to hear. Smelling things you've never noticed before, even emotions."

Even as he said it, the hairs on the back of my neck bristled. I knew what he was talking about. I could smell the aftershave on his face from where I stood, the polish on his boot; hear the birds shift in their nests around us, and the rain patter against the windshields of the cars in the parking lot at school. The bell rang signaling the beginning of first period.

I panted and looked back up at him.

He knowingly nodded. "It's okay. You can say it." And then, as if to irritate me, he leaned in and lowered his voice. " _Thank you_." He leaned back and seemed smug. "Come on, just one time."

I blinked at him. The urge to tell him to fuck off just to spite him was nearly impossible to resist, but the truth is, I felt _great_. And for whatever reason, it's _his_ fault. I blinked again. "Okay… Explain."


	4. Everything Changes

I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad  
I got sunshine in a bag  
I'm useless, but not for long  
The future is coming on  
I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad  
I got sunshine in a bag  
I'm useless, but not for long  
The future is coming on  
It's coming on  
It's coming on  
It's coming on

\- _Clint Eastwood, by Gorillaz_

* * *

A child screamed and streaked past in nothing but their diaper, nearly running straight into my legs. I barely managed to step back in time and let out a disgusted sneer. "For heaven's sake," I muttered.

The counselor was nowhere to be seen, naturally, and I scanned the crowd for my nephew. After Derek explained what exactly my newfound abilities meant, I told him I would need a minute to adjust. To clear my head. He understood, but stressed that I'm not to tell anyone about anything. I snorted, darkly. I mean, who do I even have to tell? Who would believe me?

So I came to the first place I thought of. My nephew's daycare. I haven't been coming as much, because it's been easier to just stay away from him. He doesn't need me in his life; I need _him_. And it's not fair to be that selfish. So for the most part, I'll stay away. Until something happens and I need to see him. This is one of those times.

He was sitting at a table nearby, playing with some dinosaur toys and rambling to some uninterested children around him as they colored. It clearly didn't even register to him that they were totally ignoring him as he explained how many teeth an Allosaurus had compared to its smaller cousin, the Ceratosaurus.

I waded through the pool of children and kicked a rogue tonka truck aside, marveling at the fact that I didn't fall over or lose balance at all. The tonka truck sailed into the wall and a few kids turned to frown at it as it crash on its side.

The chairs were tiny and pastel colored, and a frizzy-haired ginger girl occupied the one right next to William, my nephew. I mildly wondered if she was related to Jimmy. They had the same complexion. I patted the back of her yellow seat and pointed down at her picture she was coloring.

"Oh," I struggled to speak over the rumble of the children. She turned to look at me uncomfortably, apparently familiar with the concept of stranger-danger. Even if the stranger is a teenaged girl. Apparently, I wasn't the most approachable looking teenager out there as I leaned closer so she could hear me. "Is that… a Christmas drawing?"

"It's Rugrats," She sneered. I looked down at Tommy and Chucky, Tommy donning a red Santa hat and Chucky sporting an elf costume.

"Yeah, but it's the Christmas edition." I pointed at their clothes and she shrugged a shoulder.

"Whatever."

 _Definitely a relative of Jimmy, then_. "I used to love this show…" I tried.

She snorted. "Like I care."

I straightened up slightly and raised my eyebrows. That's how it is? I knelt down to her level. "The truth is, they're _all_ dead."

She froze for half a second, squeezing her crayon tightly as she continued to color. "That's not true." She shook her head.

"No really! Angelica is crazy, and she imagines all of the kids. I think Tommy was like, aborted, or he died as a baby, and the twins were miscarried… that's why she's able to be so mean to them without their parents getting her in trouble." I pointed to Chuckie. "He died in a car wreck with his mom. That's why Chaz is such a spaz all the time."

She threw her crayon down with a frustrated cry. "Shut up!" She exclaimed, shoving away from the table and sprinting away with tears running down her face.

"Santa isn't real," I hollered after her.

" _I know_!" She screamed back, stomping her foot. "God!"

I couldn't hold back a surprised laugh as I slid her chair out and awkwardly sat in it, my knees basically touching my chest as I sat in the short seat and turned to see William watching me with those judgy, disapproving eyes he probably inherited from his mom.

"Oh," I cringed. "You are way too young for that face." I reached out and playfully tried to wipe the expression from his face, and he jerked quickly out of my reach. I laughed as I shoved the abandoned coloring off to the side.

"What are you doing here?" He frowned.

"Oh," I brought my thumb to my mouth and awkwardly smiled at him. "Good to see you, too." He stared blankly at me. I sighed, "Alright. You're still the same, I see."

"You look different." He turned back to his toys and picked up the yellow one, with spikes coming from its back.

"You know that Spike and Sarah weren't even around in the same—"

"Periods, I know. Spike was from the Jurassic period and Sarah was from the late Cretaceous period."

We were talking about his favorite movie as a toddler, The Land Before Time.

"You know most kids your age struggle to speak without having their fingers up their nose. And here you are, spouting out facts that would make Alan Grant proud."

"Alan Grant," William latched onto that name and turned back to his toys. "The paleontologist that specializes in velociraptors."

I smiled at him and pulled out a book from my pocket. "You know him from the movies, but he's totally different in the books."

William, or Rex, as I called him, stopped midrant. He turned to me. "He is?"

"Oh, yeah. He's got black hair, and a thick black beard." I continued, pawing through the pages of the book in my hand.

"He does?" Rex scooted closer, peering down at the cover. "I didn't know you owned Jurassic World! I've wanted to read this for forever…"

I looked at him and nodded, pushing the book closer to him. "Go ahead. We'll read it together."

He hungrily took the book from my hands and flipped to the first page. "The Ingen Incident," He started. His dark brown eyes paused as he turned to look at my shirt. "Did I say that right?"

I nodded and gestured for him to continue.

"The late twentieth century has witnessed a… scientific gold rush of…"

"Astonishing," I provided.

"Astonishing," He tried.

I nodded. "Proportions."

"Proportions." He slowly repeated. I nodded at him again and smiled encouragingly. "The head…head-long and furious haste to…"

"Come on, you can sound that out." I pointed to the first part of the word. "What's that?"

"Com…"

"Say it like come."

"Commerck—"

"Okay, what are those ads on television? What are they called?"

"Commericals." He stated simply, looking to see if he got it right. I nodded.

"Okay, that's the first part of this word here, see?"

* * *

"Savannah," Maria stood over us, her glossy black hair tucked into tight curls. She's the adoptive mother of Rex. My brother had Rex with Maria's sister. It's an extremely dysfunctional situation, which should really not come as a surprise to you at this point. You see, Rex and I have something in common. We're both orphans. Isn't that neat? It's been quite the bonding experience, let me tell you. Joking, of course, I'm joking; Rex has no clue he's adopted. It's easier that way, for everyone.

Maria looked between William and me, blinking in disbelief as if to adjust her eyes to what she was seeing. "What an… unexpected surprise. How nice of you to drop by."

I sat back and closed the book. He tried to grab it from me and I snatched it out of his reach as I turned to reply, "Oh, you know how it goes. I was in the neighborhood, yada, yada, yada…"

"It's been a while." She paused, glancing at my eyes and over my form. "Good to see you sober."

"Ah, geez," I smirked, my irritation leaking in the form of my clenched jaw. "You're looking particularly youthful today, Maria. Did you just finish eating some souls, or?..."

She scoffed and turned to my nephew, gesturing to him with a grabbing motion of her hand. "Grab your toys, Will, let's go."

"Call me Rex." He insisted as he gathered his dinosaurs, taking extra special care with the large T-Rex.

"That's not your name, we've been over this," She started and he dutifully ignored her. I bit back a smile.

"I get the feeling that he won't respond to you from now on unless you call him Rex."

"Oh, and who's fault will that be?" She sighed, exhaustion written all over her face.

"Hey, why don't you let me take him for pizza?" I suggested.

"Oh, Savannah… that's sweet of you to offer—"

"I wanna go!" Rex insisted, balancing the toys in his arms and peering up at his mother from under his moppy hair.

Maria shifted uncomfortably and cut out an exasperated sigh, "I know you do, Will, but you have to go see June."

"Who's June?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"You're always saying that I need to try new things; this is new." Rex continued, tightening his grasp.

"I know, I know I said that, but we need to try and stick to your routine. We've just gotten into the swing of things, it wouldn't be good—"

"How can I try new things if I'm not breaking my routine, pizza is my favorite food," He continued, his words monotone. He didn't pause between sentences or raise his voice at the end of questions, so the best way to follow him is to take it all in stride.

"I thought dino chicken nuggets were your favorite," Maria managed to look both confused and frustrated all at once, her face turning red as she ran her hand through her hair.

"Yes, but pizza never touches anything." Rex nodded. "The dino nuggets _always_ touch my macaroni, and then I can't eat one of them—"

"Who's June?" I break in, stepping forward to wave slightly so that I catch her attention. Her mouth flounders a bit as she glances between me and Rex, conflicted with who to focus on.

"—so I'm never full when I finish eating—"

"She's the specialist we've hired to help _Will_ ," she sent a meaningful glance to Rex, "to communicate more."

"Specialist?" My nose scrunched up and I looked back to Rex. "He communicates fine."

"—it makes more sense to me to go tonight anyways, you and dad are busy."

"What?" Maria broke in, focusing intently on her son. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, you guys are barely around anymore. You always leave me with June. Hey, I know, June likes pizza! Well, she probably does, everyone likes pizza, she can come with us!" He turned to me. "Savannah doesn't care."

"No, honey," Maria broke in. "She needs to help you at home."

"Why?" He looked back at her. "I want to go with Savannah."

And with that last part, silence fell over our small group for a moment. The sounds of children playing around us filled Maria's shock. I winked at Rex and he looked back to his mother, who was standing with her mouth hanging open in surprise.

"William," She finally said, squaring her shoulders. And then I knew how the rest of this was going to go. I deflated on the inside, but kept my face a mask as she brought the finishing blow down. "You're not going tonight, and that's final. I won't cancel a session with June—"

"No," Rex stomped his foot as he whined. "Why don't you listen to me? She can go _with_ us—"

"That's final!" Maria pointed in his face, and he geared up for a fit.

"Whoa, Rex," I tried, but he ignored me as he threw his toys on the ground and started stomping and screaming about wanting to go eat dinner with me. I backed up in alarm and cast a weary glance around the room, guilt eating its way into my stomach as Maria struggled to control Rex. The children in the room paused in their games to watch what was happening.

She finally gave up trying to settle him, picked him off the floor, threw him over her shoulder, kicking and screaming, and dragged him outside. I wordlessly gathered his toys and followed out the door after them.

By the time I joined them by the car, Rex was strapped inside with red eyes as he stared forward, his arms crossed and bottom lip puffed out. I looked at Maria, and braced myself for her onslaught as I approached her with his toys in my hands.

"I had no idea…" I started, and she put her hand up to silence me.

"What were you thinking?" She snapped. "You can't just drop by without notifying me,"

"Well _excuse me_ for making an effort! I came to see my nephew," I frowned. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," She exhaled, running a hand down her face. "Nothing, look… It's great that you want to make an effort now. _Finally_. But you can't—William is… he's difficult to reason with. It's been really challenging. I know you don't understand because you haven't been around—"

"I'm trying to change that," I started, and she barreled over me.

"And we don't blame you for that. It's just… he's got a routine now, Savannah. It's taken months of meeting with June to get here. You _know_ how Will is with new people. I know you miss him. He misses you too, but… it's just not a good time right now, okay? Maybe in a few months, if we see some progress."

"Are you cutting me out?" I stumbled back in shock, unable to mask the hurt on my face. "You can't do that!"

"No!" She waved her hands as if she could physically clear my head of those thoughts. "That's not what I'm trying to do! I'm simply saying… _Wait_. For a little bit, okay?"

"I'm not going to stop seeing him." I stood, resolute. She sighed.

"Fine. Just… try to be consistent, for once in your life."

I worked hard to not let what I was actually feeling show through. "That's rich coming from _you_ , Maria." She flinched, regret staining her face. "Don't you worry, I won't be around to corrupt your child. Wouldn't wanna be _inconvenient_ , or anything like that," I shoved the toys into her arms and started to back away. "Message received."

I put my hands up and started to turn around, but thought better of it at the last minute. I strode back up to her, swallowing my pride as I handed her our book. "Oh, and I know you're all about reading _him_ the stories, but he likes to read it himself. Try letting him have some control for once. It's good for him."

And with that, I turned away and yanked my hood over my head as I slinked down the street, tears burning my eyes.

* * *

When I returned from my trip to see my nephew, Derek didn't even try to ask me where I'd gone. It was a trait in him that I knew I could learn to appreciate intensely, if I'm to be spending much time with him. And if what he says is true, it seems like I will be.

After he gave me a granola bar from his jacket pocket, which I hesitated to eat but ended up eating when he fixed me with a glare, he led me to the woods. It was a little creepy, but I could roll with it. I wanted to make a comment to him about it, but something told me we had a purpose for heading out here. I hoped it wasn't to murder me, and the urge to make a smart comment about it was nearly impossible to ignore. But then, after my meeting with my nephew, I didn't feel like joking around or engaging in a childish battle of wits with Mr. Tall Dark and Vague over here. So I chose to keep my comments to myself, a tactic I've been known to utilize sparingly.

He gave me a little speech that highlighted what it means to be bitten, even though I've already heard it before. He wanted to be clear about what I can expect to happen. If it wasn't for my healed limp, I might have a little trouble believing this whole thing. I've never bought into miracle remedies… until now.

I had claimed a spot on the ground, near a rather large fallen tree, and I have to admit I was enjoying the show. Derek had taken his jacket off the second we came to a stop, and he currently proceeded to shed his shirt. Rippling muscles winked at me in the gentle sunlight offered through the storm clouds that still lingered overhead, and I raised my eyebrow in appreciation.

"I need to _what_?" I laughed, sitting back on the stump.

"If you're going to be a part of my pack, you're going to need to train." He crouched down and turned to look at me from the corner of his eye, his ears growing to a point and his eyes flashing that bright red. He dug his claws into the dirt and exhaled slowly. "Watch carefully. There's a test at the end."

I opened my mouth to retort, but before I could say anything, he pushed off the ground and blurred past me. He ran like… nothing I had seen before. If my senses weren't as heightened as they are I would've missed him entirely.

But thanks to my new vision, I saw the whole thing. I watched as he pushed himself forward with his feet stuck together, and caught himself with his hands. He then pushed himself forward with his hands, and repeated. His ass was straight up in the air as he whizzed past me, kicking up his own breeze and sending leaves flying about my black, slightly frizzed hair.

I couldn't hold back my giggles and my eyebrows scrunched together. I bit my knuckle to muffle my laughs as he jumped up and kicked against a tree, sailed through the air, kicked against a different tree, and proceeded to ricochet between them. When he reached the top of one, he perched there.

"Wait, Tarzan," I started, looking down as I pushed myself up to begin. I bounced on my heels, a grin spreading across my face as my leg bent smoothly—no click, no clench, no pinch, no pain at _all._ I looked back up and he had disappeared. I blinked and looked back to the ground, but he was gone. Vanished. I turned wearily on my heels and suddenly ducked, missing his fist just before it crashed into the side of my head.

I fell on the ground, and Derek snapped at me. "Let's go!"

My finger came up as I clutched at my stomach. As soon as I caught sight of him, the image of that run he'd just done passed through my mind, and suddenly I couldn't breathe I was laughing so hard. He tilted his head and I could sense his anger as he stood over me. His chin was down and he panted heavily.

"Why are you laughing?" He snarled.

" _Hell no_." I wiped a tear from my eye and pointed at him as I gasped for air. "I won't run like that. Do you know how ridiculous that looks? First of all, dogs don't even run like that," He tilted his head the other way and crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh god… that was good. I needed that."

His foot swung out and knocked into my shoulder, sending me sprawling back on the ground. He loomed over me with a brooding scowl. "Don't laugh at me."

I bit back another laugh. "Don't be stupid, and I won't laugh."

He roared and brought his fist sailing down towards my face. I squeaked and barely managed to roll away before it connected with the soil. I gulped as I saw the dent he had made there, and neither of us moved for a moment.

"You got a lot of pent-up rage in that tight body," I simply said, and he narrowed his eyes at me. I huffed and pushed myself up. "Okay, seriously, you want me to do that?... Just like that?"

He blinked and stood straight. "If you're—"

"Minus the Scooby Doo." I added.

Derek crossed his arms. "I don't think you're taking this seriously."

I snorted and he scowled at me. I rolled my eyes up to the leaves above us, "Derek, I'm taking this very seriously." I peered at him from the corner of my eye and he visibly deflated.

"I can't deal with you right now," He turned to pull his shirt back over his head and came up short when I childishly shoved him from behind. He slowly turned back to scowl at me and stared, unimpressed at my fists I had poised in front of my face.

I hopped back and forth on my feet and playfully punched the air in front of me. "What'd you bite me for? So you could have a self-healing punching bag? _Train_ me, you lazy ass!"

He rolled his eyes and dropped his shirt to the forest floor. "Okay, Rocky." He cracked his neck and matched my stance, right foot forward and fists up. "You asked for it."

I danced around him with quick little steps and mockingly swiped my fists at him. "Come on," I drawled. "Hit me with ya best—"

I deflected his punch with my fist. He didn't give me time to recover before he came at me again, aiming low for my stomach. I jumped to the side and his fist sailed past my stomach, and I whirled around the side of him so that we were face to face again.

We slowly circled each other and he gestured for me to go first.

I cackled breathlessly. "No way. I'm not falling—"

 _CRACK!_ My nose stung sharply, and stars danced in my vision. I brought my face forward slowly, grunting through the blood in my mouth. I leaned down and spit the blood out on the ground beside us. Derek faintly grinned behind his fists. I panted and gently prodded at the tender area around my nose. "Oooh," I whined. "You're enjoying this too much. Not afraid to hit a girl? Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

"You're not a girl," He mirthlessly panted. "You're a beta. Stop prissing around." And with that, he charged forward and started to throw punch after punch at me. I struggled to keep up with him, turning from side to side whilst backing away as he swung his fists. He basically pushed me back until I nearly tripped over a root, and then he pushed me to make sure I fell.

An abnormal amount of rage fueled me. All amusement flooded from me as I leapt up and brought my hands forward to swipe at his face. He ducked back and I just barely missed him. His eyes flashed red and he smirked as I brought my foot around to catch his side. He easily caught my foot and tried to tug it up, but I brought my fist down and broke his grasp. Surprise flashed across his face at my technique, and I snarled my lip as I spun on my heel and reengaged him, swinging out with my fist. His hand clamped around it to stop my punch and I closed the distance between us, bringing up my knee and slamming it as hard as I could into his groin.

He wheezed and immediately dropped to the ground.

"Ohhh," I cruelly mocked, closing in on him. "What's the matter? … You gonna cry, little girl?"

"That was a…" He broke off, coughing slightly into the leaves under his cheek. "A cheap shot."

"Yeah well," I dropped my fists and held my hand out to him. "I fight dirty."

He sighed and rolled to face the sky for a moment. His chest quickly rose and fell, and he looked up at me curiously, apparently not one to hold a grudge. Or so it would seem. "You usually get that angry so easily?"

"Are you usually such a—"

He moved so fast, I didn't even catch it as his foot swiped mine out from under me. I landed with a resounding thud and my sight blurred black around the edges. "Bitch," I finished with a wheeze. Derek pushed himself up and looked down at me with his eyebrows raised, and I let out a loud sigh. "I'll take that as a _yes_ ," I bitterly said, shoving myself off the ground.

"You're going to have to learn to control your anger," Derek said, and got up to move towards the edge of the woods.

"It's easier to do when there's not someone pushing you _down_ every two seconds."

"Here's the bad news," Derek started, turning to me with his arms crossed.

"Really? There's more bad news?"

He ignored my immature passive aggressive dig as he continued. "It's going to feel like that," He nodded to where we had sparred. And by spar, I mean he pushed me down on the ground a bunch of times and I got pissed at him. "All the time. That anger? It's not going to go away like it used to."

"I was only angry because you kept pushing me down. People are going to be pushing me down?"

"They might as well," Derek nodded. "All your emotions will be heightened from now on. You're going to have to learn to keep a lid on it."

"Fantastic," I sighed. "Something you should know about me…" I tilted my head at him. "I'm not so great at suppressing myself."

Derek sighed heavily and turned to start back towards the driveway, and I followed behind him. I wondered if he was having second thoughts about choosing me when he pulled his shirt over his head and sighed again. "Come on," Derek started to walk away and I scrambled to join him.

"What?" I jogged to catch up. "You mean training is done?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "For now." He didn't look back as he continued, and it took me a moment to match his wide loping gait. I smiled though, because it was no longer an issue for me to do so. "Tonight, I want to recruit another person."

I hopped slightly and let out a sudden laugh. "Hell yeah! Do I know him?"

"Depends." He scratched the back of his neck. "Do you know an Isaac Lahey?"

I frowned down at my boots and muttered to myself. "Lahey, Lahey, Lahey… Oh! Actually, yeah, I think I know that kid. He's real shy. I think I stole his bike once. Made a lot of money off it, actually…" I trailed off as I realized Derek was staring at me. I looked back at him and shrugged unapologetically. "Hey, you knew what you were getting into when you scouted me, coach."

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Thing is, I don't know if I did…"

I smirked and nodded.

* * *

That night, I found myself slinking in shadows of a graveyard. "Remind me why we're here again?"

His eyes flickered to me. "I told you, we're getting Lahey—"

"No, dumb ass," I snapped. His eyes flashed. "I meant why are we _here_? We can't just wait until his shift is over?"

"Are we going to have a problem?" He demanded, standing tall with his shoulders spread wide to loom over me.

My eyes narrowed at his obvious intimidation tactic, and I looked him over with a barely concealed sneer. "That depends."

"Look," He tilted his head and I glanced at the seemingly empty graveyard behind him. "This is a pack. You can think of it as a team. You're new to the concept, so let me break things down for you," He stepped forward and his eyes flashed red. " _I'm_ the one who calls the shots. _I'm_ the alpha."

My eye twitched. The thing is, these werewolf terms he's throwing around are supposed to intimidate me, but they don't mean _shit_ to me. I'd been on my own for so long that I don't exactly feel comfortable letting someone else call my shots for me. He had been waiting for me to reply, but when it became apparent that I had nothing to say, he snarled a lip. "And right now, _I_ say we're going to do this."

I watched him crouch and sneak along, and rolled my eyes before quietly following his lead. I moved as quietly as my boots allowed, concentrating on staying out of Isaac's sight, but frowned when I spotted him.

Not Isaac. Isaac was in the seat of the backhoe as he dug a new grave. No, I _definitely_ wasn't worried about him. Well, I mean, maybe I should've been since it was almost midnight on a school night and here is _Isaac Lahey_ out doing hard labor—but that's not what had me coming up short. I was worried about the _other_ man in the graveyard, who was wrist deep in the grave behind Lahey, frantically digging and snarling like a little Jack Russell Terrier. I straightened slightly and watched him for a few breaths.

He's digging like a… well… like someone who's trying to get a quick fix. It reminds me of when people I know turn to their relatives for drugs, and then show up at their house and start digging through their shit for things to pawn. That was always one of those things that gave me conflicting emotions.

On the one hand, this _guy_ —this squatter that I've shared meals with over the past few days—the one I met on the street, the one who's been so resourceful, is stealing his grandmother's prescription pain-killers. And he'll tell me it was so he could sell them on the street to get a warm meal, and that she would _want_ him to have a warm meal if she knew. But then I see him take a few pills for himself. I would feel sick to my stomach. I remember I felt disgusting, dirty, like I needed a shower to try and cleanse myself of something _very_ wrong…. And on the other hand, I could empathize with needing a fix. When the drugs have a hold of you, you're not yourself. You're not in control. There's not a whole lot of logic involved. When the drugs have a hold of you, morals become a work of fiction, and ethics are just another fairytale.

And as I stand here, watching this scraggly looking man, I had that same dirty feeling. He's digging in someone's grave. Someone out there _visits_ that grave; that could be someone's dad. Someone's brother—someone's _nephew_ , and he's digging them up. My hands were clenched into tight fists, and before I knew it I was moving towards him, when a hand clamped on my shoulder.

I turned around to see Derek frowning at me. I opened my mouth and pointed back to the freak with dirt flying over his shoulder like a rabid dog, and Derek vehemently shook his head and placed his hands on my shoulder. I grudgingly focused back on his face and he pointed slowly to himself, and then to the freak.

"I got it," I snapped, and he shushed me as he calculatingly assessed the graveyard.

I resisted the urge to smack the back of his head and settled for scowling at him as he turned to approach the stranger. He crept up behind Jack Russell Terrier, and that's when I noticed that Isaac had stopped working.

He sat, peering into the darkness with wide eyes. I followed his gaze. The straggler sensed something. He had bristled over his grave and started to growl lowly.

Derek approached him from the side, hoping to reach out to him. The man snarled viciously and scrambled away, paying no heed to the _backhoe_ in his way as he shoved it out of his path, sending the entire machine toppling over and Isaac sailing into the freshly dug grave. I popped out of my hiding place and sprinted out to meet the freak halfway, latching onto his shoulder and slamming him into the ground.

He leapt up to swipe at me, and I stepped back right as Derek reached us and stomped forward with a large roar. The straggler yelped in fright and _literally_ tucked tail and ran.

No, really. He yelped like a kicked dog, cowering away with his hands up, and dove back into the night, fleeing the scene.

I stepped forward to pursue him, but Derek's hand clamped on my shoulder. He shook his head and I opened my mouth to protest. He bore his teeth at me with a growl, and I clenched my fists. We stared at each other for a beat longer before I relented with my hands up in surrender.

He turned back to the grave and leisurely approached it. I crossed my arms, minding my bite, and pouted off to the side and Derek reached down to lift the backhoe. He glanced behind him, searching for me as he laid his hands on the machine. I stubbornly sneered at him, which was all he needed to sense I would offer no help to him. He sighed and lifted the machine up, and in great testimony to his strength, lifted the whole thing up and sent it flying over our heads. It crashed nearby and I gaped at the man as he wiped his hands and looked back at me, silently motioning me to join him.

He turned and walked cockily back to the grave, crossing his arms as he stood at the edge. I scrambled to join him and peered down into the hole.

Lahey cowered down in the corner under his hands, and when he finally gained the courage to look, he froze. His eyes zeroed in on me. I cleared my throat and straightened slightly as Derek quipped, "Need a hand?"

I sent him a scathing glare. "What is that, your catch phrase?"

He dutifully ignored me as Lahey uncrouched, sensing that perhaps he had overreacted. I actually saw… _what… is that?_

Lahey blinked and stepped forward cautiously, wringing his hands.

 _Oh, god_. It is. He stared up at Derek with what can only be described as worship, and then spared me a quick glance that was filled with contempt.

I reared back in surprise and looked to Derek. "What did I do?" I jammed a thumb against my chest, my voice high. Derek's face, although _appearing_ blank, trust me—I know this bastard well enough to detect his amusement. Or maybe that's my newfound sixth sense, as I could _smell_ his suppressed laughter.

I grumbled to myself and crossed my arms as Derek knelt down to offer Lahey a hand.

"W-What are you doing out here?" Lahey grunted as he began to lift himself out of the grave, but Derek made his efforts moot as he literally lifted him to the grass. Lahey staggered slightly and breathed in astonishment. " _Whoa_ ," He chuckled, and glanced briefly at me, keeping quiet in his reverence. "I-I mean, how did you find me?"

"You were kinda hard to miss.." I scoffed, and Derek visibly tried to ignore me. "Helpless idiot operates dangerous machinery in the black of night." He turned a pointed glare at me and this time _I_ ignored him. "Backhoe _spontaneously_ tips over freshly dug grave—I suspect operator error—idiot falls in grave. Heroes," I place emphases on the _s_ as I gesture wildly between Derek and myself. "Save idiot." I started to cross my arms before thinking of something, "You're welcome, by the way." Satisfied, I crossed my arms and turned away from Lahey slightly in derision.

Derek focused on me with his eyebrows raised and eyes slightly wider than usual, as if to silently ask if I was quite finished. I shrugged a shoulder and gestured for him to go.

"Lucky we came along when we did." Derek said, his voice surprisingly sincere. I peered at him from the corner of my eye and ignored Lahey as he traded his hate filled look of scorn for me in for a cautious look at Derek.

"Oh, yeah…" He waved at the ruined backhoe with feigned apathy. "It-it happens a lot." I exchanged a dubious glance with Derek, and Lahey hesitated. "I mean, it doesn't happen a _lot_ —actually, my dad is gonna murder me, so… that's kind of where I'm at right now…" He trailed off, now unable to look away from the smashed backhoe. His hands were picking at each other viciously.

"Your dad?" Derek stepped closer to Lahey and finally, I saw where he was going with this. I let my arms fall limply to my sides and stepped back, letting Derek take the complete spotlight. Lahey glanced back at me briefly before focusing entirely on the tall drink of water in front of me. "Surely he'll be relieved _you_ weren't hurt. I mean, after whatever happened to you for your eye to be so…" Derek cut off and looked back at me with a laugh. "I bet he's already worried."

Lahey touched a hand to his eye and seemed to shrink into himself. "You don't know my dad," He breathed, trying to pass it off with a laugh, though I could still see the glint of fear. And maybe I could smell it a little, too. "Trust me. I'm dead."

"Well, I bet he's got insurance, though," Derek gestured back to the machinery.

"That's not the point." Lahey deadpanned, his voice changing slightly. It occurred to me that maybe he was feeding us his father's line, and I was struck with inspiration.

"Yeah, the point is, ya fucked up." I ignored the feeling of Derek's eyes on my face as I licked my lips and squared my feet, meeting Lahey's chastised gaze. "I mean, he sent you out with a pretty simple task. Dig a hole. And actually, _you_ didn't even have to dig the hole! You had a machine to do the hard part for you… So…" My hands gestured vaguely. "Ya know. Actually, my dad probably would've smacked me one good for this," I gestured over my shoulder with my thumb before bringing it back to scratch at my cheek. Glancing between the boys in front of me, I nodded and shoved my hands in my pockets as I focused on Lahey. "Your dad wouldn't do something like that, would he, Isaac?..."

Lahey blinked widely at me and stepped away hesitantly. "N-No…" He whispered, his eyes fluttering. "I…" He looked at the ground and Derek slowly crept closer to him, placing his hands on his shoulders.

"What if I said that I could make sure your dad would never lay a hand on you again?" Derek's façade of nice was gone, and back again was his menacing growl. Lahey cleared his throat weakly, gearing up with automatic denial. He looked up to see our facial expressions and clamped his mouth shut. "You'd never have to cover for him again. You wouldn't have to live _every second_ of your life filled with dread and walking on eggshells, constantly worried that you'll do something wrong… _say_ the wrong thing…" Lahey shuddered slightly, his head hung down as Derek leaned in to whisper. A moment passed, and Lahey nodded jerkily.

I exhaled from my reverie and felt tension flood from my coiled muscles.

"Oh!" I suddenly snapped my finger and pointed excitedly at Lahey. "I get it!"

Lahey blinked at me, glancing briefly at Derek in question. Derek looked blankly back at him, and I grinned widely and crossed my arms.

"It's the bike. Isn't it?" I nodded smugly, proud to have finally figured it out. "That's why you're so shitty with me. It's because I stole your bike."

Lahey's face scrunched in disbelief and he promptly turned away from me. I shrugged cluelessly at Derek and he shook his head before leading Lahey off to some dark corner so he could … seal the deal.

I chuckled at my own thoughts, amused at how dirty they sounded. I lifted my head as I heard a brief whimper, the sound of flesh breaking, and suddenly Derek's hand was at my shoulder. He nodded to me as the red glow in his eyes faded and his canines shrank into his jaw.

I jokingly shuddered and pointed at his face as we walked away from the cemetery. "When is that gonna start happening to me?" He sent me a surprised glance. "Ya know, the Bela Lugosi shit."

Derek snorted in surprise and nodded, flipping the collar of jacket up as he picked up his pace and ducked into the woods. "He was a vampire."

"Not always." I defended. "Just… most of the time—anyways, that's not the point. The teeth thing," I bared my teeth and him and tapped my nail against them. "ETA to canine distention."

He audibly shuddered and shook his hands out, "Ugh, Savannah…" I laughed at him and he tilted his head in disgust. "Do you always have to be so… crass?"

I put my hands out like I was holding something round. "I wanna know when my balls will drop, god dammit!" He laughed, the sound echoing through the trees, and I smiled with him in surprise. "I can't believe that's what your laugh sounds like. It's so _nice_ ," I exclaimed, earning a strange look from him. "I pictured it to be more evil than that!"

He said nothing as we walked, his eyes focused on the forest in front of us. I smiled secretly at him and focused back on the ground as we walked. "You'll phase during your first full moon."

"What," I groaned, smacking my forehead. "Not _another_ monthly thing to dread…" I gasped and screeched to a halt, holding my hand out to Derek in as dramatic a fashion as I could muster. He forced himself to stop and visibly controlled his patience as I continued. "What does this mean… you know… as a woman? Does this change things for me?"

He frowned at me like I was the stupidest person he'd met, and continued walking, grumbling to himself. I scrambled behind him and relentlessly continued. "No more riding the cotton pony?... Leak week has officially drawn to a close… _for good_? Derek! Wait! This is of _vital_ importance, it could save me from some _serious_ panic attacks and unnecessarily uncomfortable conversations in a few weeks –"

He shook his head and pointed at me, rage and disgust evident on his handsome visage. "I do _not_ like you enough to have this conversation."

"Oh," I mockingly cringed. "Come on… You can't keep something like this from me!" Derek left me where I stood in the woods, breaking into his Scooby Doo run.

"Alright," I held my hand out and waved awkwardly, as if it was a mutual decision to draw the conversation to an end. "I'm gonna crash with you tonight, though!" I hollered, sure that he heard me.

I turned my head to the side and waited, but heard nothing more from the man as he fled from me. I shrugged and started to walk again, taking that as an okay. "Guess we'll find out next week." I muttered.


	5. Carmen, Carmen

I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard,

Yeah, I may snap and I move fast

But you won't see me fall apart

 _\- Elastic Heart by Sia_

* * *

"No way." I strode past Derek and swung my leg over the crumbling seat in the subway cart, cracking my neck as I did so. "That's gotta be—and trust me, this is a feat, considering your track record—but this has gotta be the _worst_ idea you've had yet."

"Savannah, it's the best option we have." Derek pointed out, crossing his arms and jutting his chin out as if it was already decided. I rolled my eyes and bent forward, lying down on my thigh and stretching out my muscles

" _No!"_ I laughed. He stared at me seriously. "No…. _No!"_

"You know I'm right!"

"Actually, I don't! _Stupid_ idea—let me tell you how stupid this is." I sat up from where I had stretched out and spun so that I sat with my legs splayed and my hands out like I was framing a picture for him. "You want me," I touched my hand to my chest briefly before returning it to the imaginary frame. "To go monitor Lahey at school all day, because we wanna make sure he doesn't do something stupid now that he's been bitten." Breaking the frame, I held my hands up questioningly and he nodded to confirm. I scoffed, glancing away and muttering about stupid men, before scratching my cheek and trying again. "Lemme break this down for you, Hale. I'm a _fugitive_. And we don't even know why!" He blinked at me. "A fugitive of the _law_. As in, the _law-law._ As in, if they see me at school, I'll be taken to jail…. As in, _jail-jail—"_

"Saying it twice doesn't make it any more serious." He snapped.

"Oh, good, so you do know what that means." I sarcastically snipped. "You _self-serving_ son of a—"

"You're a part of this pack now. I'm the alpha, so that means you have a responsibility to me, and to Isaac, to make sure—"

"I'm not responsible for anyone, or anything." I angrily interjected. He blinked at me perplexedly.

"No, see." He strode forward and pointed in my face. " _That_ ends now. You can't play the persecuted martyr card anymore. I'll watch your back, Savannah, I promised you that already. I've got your back. Okay?"

I tilted my chin up with my eyes narrowed at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. We stared at each other for a minute, the only sound between us being our steady heartbeats. I broke concentration and exhaled in frustration. "Nope," I breathed as I shook my head. "I can't. It's not that easy, Derek, I can't just – rewire the way my brain works," I cringed and squirmed like the very idea disgusted me. "It's not the way I think. Trust is something that…" I sighed and ran a hand through my frizzy hair, peering at him for only a second before looking down at my hands. "And you're—" My mind flitted through everything I knew of him, everything he's done to _me_ thus far. From the moment he saved me from those drug thugs, to the way he lifted the backhoe last night, and everything in between. I absentmindedly rubbed at my throat. "I can't."

He sighed and slowly made his way to me, sitting himself down on the seat across from me. I glanced at him and watched as he rubbed his eyes.

"Can I ask you a question?" I tilted my head and he looked at me from behind his hands.

"Still not ready for that conversation—"

"Why do you want a pack so bad?" I barreled over him, ignoring his comment. "Straight up. No bullshit. You want my trust? I need, above everything else, I _need_ your honesty." I pursed my lips and shrugged. "I can't trust you if I can't trust that you're being honest with me… I know you can be honest. Come on, you were like… _brutally_ honest with me that night in the warehouse. And now we're in this together, so… If you want me to do these stupid ideas of yours, I gotta at least know why." He dropped his hands and reflected for a moment before turning to answer me.

"Our kind… we're stronger together." Derek began, flitting a finger between myself and him. "I mean that literally, not figuratively. Better, faster, stronger. Especially…" He hesitated, looking at me before sighing heavily and taking the plunge. " _Especially_ the alpha. Why do I want new pack members so bad? I want to be stronger. I want to be faster, I want to be able to do more than just _survive_. I want a pack, and everything that it comes with."

I felt my guard drop as I stared at the man before me, finally starting to understand him just a little bit. He wants to be stronger. He wants to lead, to be apart of something that's important. That's why he's doing this. _That's_ why he's willing to trust me so much. I mean, he's willing to trust _me_ … It was a selfish move for him to make, but if I said it wasn't in my best interest to be bitten, I'd be lying. I brought my thumb up to chew at my nail for a moment and squared my shoulders, standing up and cracking my back.

"That urine soaked mat didn't do my back any favors, lemme tell ya." I shuffled over to the door of the cart and jerked my thumb back to point at him over my shoulder. "Hey, how do you stay so clean? Is there a corner in this dump that I can hose off in, or…"

Derek's furrowed brow followed me as I crossed the cart and dug in his jacket pocket briefly. "I've got a gym membership."

I snorted and caught the small square he tossed at me, picking it from the air and squinting at it in the darkness. His gym card. "Of course you do," I said as I ducked out and bounded down the steps.

"Savannah," He called, "Where are you going?"

"To babysit the new kid!" I hollered back. I didn't turn to know he was grinning like a wolf; I could smell his triumph from where I strode through the warehouse. "And probably get thrown in jail…" I continued under my breath, ignoring the fact that he could hear me. "Oh well. Wouldn't be the first time. At least they have cots…"

* * *

I shifted from foot to foot, lurking just outside the boy's locker room. It was seven in the morning. The air was still cool, the grass damp with dew, and I smoothed my hair with my hand briefly. It felt good to not be living at the beck and call of oxy anymore. This morning, as I stood in the locker room at the gym with my towel wrapped around me, I held the bottle in my hand and stopped just before I popped it open. I realized that ever since Derek had bitten me, the drugs held no power over me. I could take a pill, sure, but the point is… I don't need to. And words can't possibly begin to describe how elating that is.

After the shower I indulged in, I noticed a few outward physical changes that accompanied my new… _abilities_ as well. First of all, my hair didn't look like some sort of cross between stringy and frizzy that resulted in a nearly dread-locked appearance. Second of all, my olive skin seemed to glow with health, and my _boobs._ Oh, don't even get me started on my body. It was superior in every way; I felt like I had traded up for a newer model and couldn't help but strut a bit as I walked. I even broke into a locker at the gym and snagged myself a new set of jeans and a black v-neck t-shirt, my usual jean vest still tugged over the top.

Glammed up and ready to roar, I tensed as the boys started to file out of the locker room. I sniffed quietly and tilted my head in confusion when Scott McCall walked past and I'm pretty sure I caught a whiff of…

But there was no time to linger on it as Lahey followed him, and I quickly reached out to drag him out of the crowd and out of sight.

He gasped and instinctively tried to swipe at my face, but I caught his wrist and bent his hand back. "Lahey!" I growled. "Don't you scratch me, I'll bite back."

He pushed me off of him and staggered back, glancing nervously behind him. "What are you _doing_ here?" He hissed. "Coach just warned the entire team to be on the lookout for you! If anyone is able to turn you in, they'll get an automatic B in his class!"

"Ugh!" I pouted, throwing an acidic glare to Coach Finstock and jabbing a finger in his direction. "Come on! I mean, I don't even warrant an A? What the hell, that's—"

"Did you even hear what I said?" Lahey squeezed his helmet tightly in his hands. "You can't be here!"

"I'm here to warn you not to… _ya know._ Bust a nut! Don't lose control out there, got it?" He cringed at my euphemism, but I ignored him and clamped a tight hand on his shoulder. I squeezed until I felt a bone pop and he wheezed, trying to squirm out from under my grasp as I got in his face. "You're _in this_ now, Lahey. _Don't_ fuck it up."

He batted my hand from his shoulder, which I allowed, and jammed his helmet over his head wordlessly. Coach Finstock blew his whistle and Lahey turned, obviously wanting to leave, and sighed heavily. "Yeah, but I'm faster now. Stronger, I'll be better on the team," He turned to jog onto the field.

"Oh no," I called after him, glancing around desperately. I barely managed to snag his jersey in time as I dragged him back like an angry mother trying to control her petulant child. "You'll be skipping practice this morning." I stated, leaving no room for discussion.

" _What_ ," He whined. "No way! This is my chance to—"

"What?" I mockingly sneered, shoving him into the locker room and closing the door firmly behind us. "This is your chance to _shine?_ " His jaw clenched and he clawed his helmet off, slamming it on the ground so hard that it cracked. Lahey whirled on me with glowing, golden eyes and growled— _yes,_ growled at me. I scoffed and simply threw my hand out to shove him against a locker, causing his pads to bang against the metal hard enough to leave an Isaac-shaped-dent. "It might not be fair, it might not even make sense to you yet, but you _can't_ blow your cover. Suddenly becoming the star of the lacrosse team? _That's_ blowing your cover."

"So I'll just—keep the ball in play for once! I'll tackle a guy. I'll _actually_ keep up with the opponent, Savannah, I know you hate me. But I don't take that personally; you hate everyone! So can you _please,_ for once in your life, empathize with someone else for a second?" His eyes flashed golden, but not in anger, in desperation. I felt myself caught off guard, though it was mostly due to the fact that he thought I was incapable of empathy. Not sure how to feel about that.

"Okay, Lahey." I ignored the way his eyebrows shot up. "All I know… is I'm trying to protect you, whether you choose to believe that or not. So yeah, I can _empathize_ with having something to prove to these jackasses in school. But you're a part of a bigger picture now. You can't just think of yourself anymore. What do you think will happen if they discover you? Or if you hurt someone else?" He blinked owlishly at me, and I could smell… a sweet, sharp smell rolling from him. Alarm. I had surprised him. I slowly released his shoulders and let him stand on his own two feet, taking two steps back from him.

"I'm not saying you have to quit the sport altogether. I'm just saying… give it some time. You don't know what we're capable of yet. Hell, _I_ don't know what we're capable of yet." I paused and mulled this over for a moment. "Although, I did see Derek lift that backhoe by himself last night. So… There's that."

I gave it a moment to let this soak in and brushed his jersey off as he gaped at this revelation. "Go clean yourself up. I think it's time for some pack bonding." His bright blue eyes glinted with dread as he looked at me. "Oh, shut up and get out of my face," I snapped, pushing his head back into the lockers and snickering as he swiped back at me, though not with hate as he once would have.

* * *

"Is this the part where you brutally murder me and hide my body where no one would ever find it?" Lahey quipped, ducking under a branch as I led him through the woods.

"Yes." I said without missing a beat. His head whipped around to look at me, his smirk dropping from his face. I let it simmer for a moment more, just long enough to watch him gulp in apprehension, before I allowed myself to laugh at him. "Ah, I couldn't kill you, kid! You're too much fun."

He grumbled to himself and stomped alongside me. We continued on for a few moments before I suddenly rolled to a stop and put my hand on his chest. He came up short and opened his mouth to say something, but was left with his mouth flopping open as he gazed at the large railroad depot through the trees.

And from where he stood, it probably did look really creepy. It loomed over the trees with black shadows falling in every corner; vines crawling up the sides and the broken glass windows whistling in the wind. The only thing missing was an eerie fog to roll over the empty parking lot, and it would be ready to serve as the set for any Edgar Allen Poe story. I cleared my throat and continued on, calling over my shoulder for him to follow me.

"Don't be a pussy!" I smirked. "We're the big bad wolf now."

He swallowed roughly, and though I didn't have to have spidey senses to smell the apprehension radiating from his skinny frame, he followed after me. I held the door to the basement open and nodded for him to go first. He glanced at me and hesitated. "Just to be clear, I was joking about killing me earlier."

I raised my eyebrows and said nothing, which sent his heart rate into a sporadic race. I couldn't help the laughter that bubbled from my throat as I clapped him on the shoulder. " _Relax_ , Blue's Clues. No one is going to kill you, okay? This is home base."

He snapped his mouth shut and shrugged sarcastically. "Oh, well, in that case—" He started, before cutting off to gape incredulously at me. " _This_ is the best we can do? Three powerful werewolves, and we're hiding out in the playhouse of Saw?"

I pursed my lips and looked back to the open doorway, the darkness so thick it seemed alive. The metal grating of the stairs was rusted and didn't seem like the most stable of structures, but then, neither did the building itself. "Uhhh," I drawled before smacking my lips. "Yep." I flashed him a blinding smile and he rolled his eyes before stepping cautiously into our lair.

I let the door slam shut behind us and stepped in to stand next to him, where he lingered at the landing of the stairs. He shifted on his feet. "Well, don't you have a flashlight or something?"

I scoffed. "Oh, my gosh, Lahey— _unpucker,_ please. Your eyes will adjust. You're lucky I don't do to you, what Derek did to me."

Lahey looked like he didn't want to ask, but couldn't help himself. "…Why? What did he do?"

I stared at him for a beat more, smacked my lips dryly, and reached out to shove him down the stairs.

" _Wmph_ ," He grunted as he wind milled his arms to try and steady himself, but I had pushed him too hard, and he lost balance and tumbled over the top step. He yelped like a kicked dog and I roared with laughter as he let his instincts take over. Before he reached the last step, he managed to land on all fours, and corrected himself. He crouched at the bottom of the steps with his heart racing and his breaths so loud, it echoed through the warehouse. His head snapped as Derek ducked out of the cart nearby.

"You just added liar to your list." He called to me, faint amusement in his voice. "I never pushed you down the steps. That would be… actually, no, that's something I would've done if I had thought of it."

I started down the stairs as I laughed. "I mean, close enough. You pushed me, I fell, whatever! By the way, you're keeping a _list?"_ I snorted, and held my hand down to Lahey. "You have quick reflexes. That'll come in handy for your upcoming game."

Lahey's furious scowl softened a bit at my words, and he took my hand as Derek bristled beside us.

"Savannah, I'm not exactly sure where to start with you. The fact that what you just said to Isaac is the _exact_ opposite of what we discussed, or the fact that you're both still _here_ and not in school."

"Who are you, our father?" I snapped. Lahey's head whipped back and forth between us like he was watching a tennis match.

"I'm your alpha, thanks for bringing that up. Saves me the trouble."

"Yeah?" I challenged, crossing my arms. "You sure do _love_ to pull that alpha card. You better be careful, or it's going to lose its bite."

"My _point_ is that you do what _I_ say. You're a beta, Carmichael, not an alpha."

"I thought that this was a pack, not Derek and his minions—"

"Then you weren't listening very closely, were you?"

We found each other nose-to-nose, toe-to-toe, and I felt my temper reach its boiling point. Before I could explode, Lahey sucked in a gasp. Our heads snapped to glare at him for interrupting.

"I-I'm sorry to intrude on this… weird little… power struggle, but how come her eyes are blue when they shift?" He pointed at my face and I narrowed my eyes in confusion. Derek's anger drained from his body and he took a step back from me as Lahey continued. "Mine are… yellow. Even though they're usually blue, wouldn't it make more sense for hers to be yellow, since she has brown eyes, and mine to be blue?"

Derek sighed and didn't look at me as he stepped away. "The color of our eyes when we shift has nothing to do with their natural color…"

I tilted my head and frowned. "What do you mean?" Derek focused on the ground and hesitated. "Derek, this is a time when that honesty thing comes into play." He peeked at me from the corner of his eye, glancing briefly at Lahey. I stepped closer to him. "Why are my eyes blue?"

* * *

 **Two Years Prior**

 _Thunder cracked overhead. A torrential downpour opened from the sky, soaking my already freezing body and sending racking shivers through me. It was difficult to tell if this was an impact of the weather, or of my own emotions as I stood at the edge._

 _Hot tears trailed down my cheeks. I couldn't breathe through my nose, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. My hair was wet and stringy, hanging in my face. My faded shirt was plastered to my body. I peered over the side of the cliff at the waterhole below, my mind conjuring up involuntary memories of my childhood. My heart twisted painfully and I let out a shriek, finally—mercifully, I erupted and screamed as hard as I could._

 _It had taken me months._ Months _to reach this point; months of being abandoned and beaten down. I couldn't take anymore. I can't survive another day knowing that I have no one there to back me up. It's too much; it's not fair! How am I expected to go on? When everyone who ever cared has left me behind, how is it that the world ignores me? This isn't what's supposed to happen. I'm a kid! Everyone is supposed to help_ me _._

 _I can't stand the feeling of walking these streets another day. It would be so easy, after all. The water looked so black. So welcoming. So inviting. My own abyss, armed with its very own secret teeth like some sort of predator lurking at the floor of the ocean. Tricking its prey. It felt appropriate, actually, that I find myself here at the end. The arms of my childhood beckoned me. I could feel them tugging at me from the bottom of the pond._

Do it _, my mind whispered._ Just like Jack taught you not to _._ _Do it!_ _I heaved a shuddering breath and backed up a step, gearing myself up._

 _"Savannah!" A voice roared over the thunder behind me. I let my eyes slide shut and the sound of his voice wash over me._

 _So this is it. I've officially gone crazy. But, if it were anyone's voice to hear in my last moments, his is one of the best options I have. In spite of everything I've said, everything he's done—and more importantly_ not _done… I loved him. I needed him, and he finally showed up to see me off. A bittersweet smile tugged at my lips and I took that final step, over the edge, down, down, down, to the predator's waiting teeth below, the rocks, the end…_

 _My entire body was yanked back. My eyes snapped open and I screamed out, "No!" I screeched. The sky blurred over my head as I collided against the mud, strong hands slamming me down. "Let me go," I sobbed. "Just let me go, please, I can't—do it anymore, please, just let me—"_

 _"Savannah," It seemed more painful for Jack to breathe as he looked down at me with tear filled eyes, than to say my name. I knew that the hurt in his eyes was for me. "You can't do this! How could you do this? After everything…" I gasped in pain and fury. The ache in my heart was slowly bled dry, eaten up by the white-hot rage that I felt consuming my soul._

 _"Why do you care?" I could barely recognize my voice, animalistic and primal. I pushed his shoulders back as hard as I could and flung him off of me, scarcely missing a beat as I all but levitated from the ground to breathe my fire on him. "Why now? I needed you_ weeks _ago, Jack, where were you then? When I sat outside your door all night,_ begging _you to let me in? When—when that Judge Burnell told me that I had to go_ live _in a stranger's home because I have_ no one _… no one else, no one cares, and I looked to_ you _today, Jack! And you turned me away!" He opened his mouth to answer me, but I was on a roll. I violently shoved him again. "You_ left _me! You left me to sit outside your door, and you wouldn't let me in? Why wouldn't you let me_ in _?_ _Where have you been for the last_ six _months?" I gave him another push, throwing caution to the wind. All I wanted was for him to go. To leave me, here, to let me choose my own fate for once. If he wanted me out of his life so bad, bad enough to turn me away time and time again, then fine! I'll do us both a favor and just go. For good._

 _I wasn't paying attention as I blindly shoved at him, fueled by the anger and the hate in my heart that_ he _put there. It was all his fault, everything was his fault. Mom and dad… they were his fault. What happened was his fault. I know it was, he denies it, and I've been cruel to him. I know I've said the worst things to him, but it's only because I'm so_ mad _, and I hurt so much that I couldn't keep it contained. I needed that sickness out of my body. I can't live with the hate, and the hurt, and the dead feeling in my heart… I'm just so angry! He never says anything to me when I try to talk to him about it._

 _He would just turn away and change the subject. He would pretend I hadn't said a word. He would act as if it was all okay, like everything was going to work out, but he didn't do a_ thing _to make it okay for me. He_ never _has! I said the meanest things that came to mind, all in an effort to elicit a reaction from him. But it never worked! He always just looks at me with those eyes, like I've physically struck him, and leaves me feeling about a thousand times worse than I already did, which just pisses me off even more._

 _He's moved on, and finally gotten a job for the first time in his life. It's like he had some startling moment of clarity, and now says he has a job at some construction site, and he's not wearing the same clothes from the last shopping trip mom took him on last year like_ I _am, and he's getting haircuts and he looks just like dad with his new short hair, and he sounds just like mom when he tells me to stop being_ dramatic _. And that makes me even more mad because it hurts to think of them, let alone to see parts of them in my brother!_

 _Meanwhile, I have to sleep on the floor in the house of this old stranger who smells like aged tomato sauce and keeps six cats, and there are five other kids who share the floor of the living room with me. The first night I was there, one girl took my shoes, which were two sizes too small for her, and when I tried to take them back she broke my nose!_

 _So now I can't breath right, and I'm crying too hard, and my shoes are two sizes too big and they're_ filthy _,_ _but even if they were clean they would be ugly because they're not mine! They're hers. And mom would never have let any of this happen, and dad would've gotten me new shoes!_

 _All Jack cared about for a long time after they died was trying to find a job. But he always had torn up knuckles, and I remembered that he got in trouble—_ real _trouble, last year for street fighting. He had to do community service. Mom was so disappointed; dad couldn't even look him in the eye when he brought Jack home from court. I only asked him about his job one time, and he got so mad at me that I never brought it up again. So, if he says he works in a construction site…_

 _I would ask him when I could come live with him, because he has always said that I would one day, and every time I would see him I would ask if I could come today because I couldn't stand another night of sleeping next to the boy who has lice and growls at everyone like a dog. Or having to protect my food from the feral house cats like an animal. Or fight off the other kids when they would try to take my things, and I'm_ so close _to just trying my luck on the streets. And every time I asked he would tell me that he has something lined up, he just needed_ time _to get things in order._

 _The foster home was_ always _meant to be temporary. The judge deemed Jack too young and unfit to care for me, and that was the second worst day of my life. Of_ our _life, he says. He promised me he would get it turned around. He promised me he would get clean and find a job so that he could find a nice place to stay; a place where I had my own bed and my own brush. He would buy me new shoes that fit and we could go to Mario's to have pizza like we used to every Tuesday night…_

 _But as far as I could tell, he hadn't even been looking for a job for a really long time! And by now it was too late, and I found out this morning that I was going to be picking lice from my brush before I could use it forever_ _. Four years, to be exact, because that's when I turn eighteen. Not only that, but now I had to start high school and I had to live in my own filth while still juggling school, and it was all too much, but Jack reassured me every time I saw him that it was all_ temporary _, and he was_ working on it.

 _Well, here we are. Six months since I was able to visit Jack freely. A year since mom and dad died. Hours from my sentencing to my own personal hell, a stranger's house, for_ four _more years. Jack has a job, he has clean clothes and hair that looks good and his teeth are the whitest I've ever seen. He brings me pizza from Mario's sometimes and I'm too hungry to ask where he got the money from._

 _It's a lot to consider. Too much, in fact, but the thoughts all condensed into a swirl of emotions in a matter of seconds. I felt like my mind had reverted to an infant's capacity. I couldn't even form words anymore as I acted out, screaming my tears and pushing him away from me._

 _I just wanted him to_ shut up _. I wanted him to go away! I wanted him to leave me alone! I_ know _he followed me here from the courthouse, I know he was there and he saw the judge decide I would stay in foster care until I was finally adopted, or until I aged out of the system! I know he figured out where I would be, and I hate that he still knows me after all this time. After all that's happened! "I can fix this," He tried, his voice sounding young and scared._

 _"Don't—" I managed through my wailing, my fists relentlessly pounding into wherever I could manage to hit him. He put his hands up and tried to catch me, but I was too fierce, like a tornado that had been set loose. The mud was slick underneath our feet. "—care—" I brought my hand up like he taught me to, heel first, straight into his nose. It caught him by surprise, and I felt a resounding sensation of triumph as his head snapped back and he finally stumbled away from me. I lifted both hands and gave him a final push. "—about me!"_

 _And he disappeared over the edge. Down, down, down, to the predator's waiting teeth below, the rocks, the end…_

 _I gasped at the spot he was just in. I panted heavily, blinking through the rain that blurred my vision as it cleared from the haze of my anger. Raising a trembling hand to my nose, I swiped gingerly at where it was running and sniffled. "…Jack," I murmured, the weather roaring around me like it was alive. Thunder echoed around me and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck raise, because I didn't hear the answer that I wanted. I didn't hear his voice calling back to me. I couldn't hear his stupid voice, telling me it would be okay, lying to me… "Jack..." I stepped to the edge of the cliff and peeked down._

 _It had gotten darker, as the storm had grown with intensity. But lightening flashed overhead and I saw him._

 _Caught in the predator's teeth below. Dead, lifeless, limp on the rocks that protruded dangerously from the bank of the watering hole below the cliff, and my screams mixed with the thunder booming around me._

* * *

 **Present Day**

"It's not important." Derek declared, and just like that, he dropped the subject. Anger trickled through my body. He turned to Lahey, putting his back to me. "Now, about the team—"

"Rude!" I chirped behind him.

He barreled over my comment as if it hadn't happened, "You can't play lacrosse anymore, Isaac." Derek continued. I clenched my fists and huffed with indignation behind him. Isaac's eyes flickered to me briefly before he focused back on the controlling man in front of him. "It's too dangerous, and not just for the other people on that field… There are things I haven't even scratched the surface of. Things that you two need to be aware of."

"Like why our eyes shift to random colors, for example," I interrupted, swishing my arm out theatrically.

Derek bristled. "We have bigger problems than that, Carmichael!"

And for the moment, I decided to drop it. That's not to say I don't plan to pester him until he explodes and tells me the reason my eyes are blue… It's more like, I'm picking my battles. I haven't survived on my own this long without learning _some_ tact. You know what they say, diplomacy is the art of saying 'nice doggie' until you find can find a rock. That just applies so well here, don't you think?

"Alright." I finally relented. "What would those problems be? Or are those not important enough to focus on, either?" So much for diplomacy.

He sighed through his nose, casting me a lingering glare before he began to pace. "We can't run the risk of either of you being discovered. If Isaac suddenly becomes great at lacrosse… that raises a few eyebrows. _Trust_ me, there are those that would take notice. And they wouldn't take you at your word when you try to pass it off as putting extra hours in at the gym." He seemed to have someone in mind and I waited for him to elaborate… but it never came as he continued. "We need to be careful."

"Why?" I finally asked. "We're stronger than any of those idiots." Hope sparked in Lahey's eyes, as it appeared that I was just as determined to let him play as he was, and I had a solid argument against Derek.

"You're so naïve." Derek's voice was low, and his face was hidden in shadow. I scoffed and scrunched my face in distaste, prepared to cut back with an equally venomous retort, when he knocked me on my ass with his next words. "There are people out there _just_ as strong as us. They hate our kind; they see us as a threat. They think we're murderous and unable to control our instincts. Their sole purpose is to find us, and when they do…" He dramatically trailed off, and my mind worked through this revelation slowly.

Lahey's breathing had hitched. I clenched my teeth, tilting my head. "Well… who are they?"

Derek turned to pace along the cement next to us. "They're hunters."

I was at a loss for words. I hadn't considered that, in all the glory of my newfound powers. Through the whole deal. From Derek's advertising, to recruiting Lahey, to accepting the bite so willingly and… _naively_. I thought that I would be untouchable, and I am… but not completely. Of course there are those who want to kill us. It'd be too easy otherwise, too perfect.

"And they want us dead?" I finally managed. Derek hesitated, but finally nodded. Something about the way he answered caught my attention. I could tell that this is something he took very seriously. _Very_ seriously… and it clicked in my mind, as I watched his face. It appeared blank at the surface, but I was looking for it, so I saw the tightness around his eyes and the way his muscle in his jaw twitched. They hate us, right? They want us dead. And guess who's dead?... Derek's family. I carefully worded my next question. "…And you want a new pack."

He froze for a millisecond. It was slight, and brief, but it was enough. I looked at my feet as he stopped pacing and turned to cross his arms at us sternly.

"I want to _keep_ my new pack alive. That's why I'm doing this, that's why you can't risk being on the lacrosse team. Are you getting it yet?" His voice had taken on an edge, and it left little to no room for Lahey to answer in any way but yes without being a huffy child. "This isn't a game. It's life and death. You can feel invincible, you can be stronger than ever before, and you can _not_ make stupid immature decisions that get yourself killed!"

" _Okay_ ," I cut in, stepping between the boys. I put my hand on Lahey's shoulder. "I'm gonna get him to class. One of us has to show up, and me skipping is nothing new. It won't look suspicious if a fugitive avoids a governmentally funded institution, right? But you don't have that luxury." I babbled, throwing on a fake smile as I steered Lahey to the stairs and herded him up.

"Come back." Derek commanded from where he lingered outside the subway cart. "I want to talk to you."

I kept my eyes on him for a few beats longer, before nodding once and letting the heavy metal door swing shut behind us.

I breathed in the fresh air and turned mockingly wide eyes to Lahey. "Jeeze, that guy's morbid," I quipped. Lahey sighed thoughtfully, looking sullen. I cocked an eyebrow. "Don't let your knuckles drag, Lahey, it's tacky."

He shot me a dirty look, drawing a smirk from me. He paused to look away uncomfortably before he said his next words. "Lacrosse is the only time I'm able to spend away from my dad…"

I gave an exasperated sigh. "I'll work on Derek, okay? All is not lost. Now get on out of here," I playfully shoved at his shoulder and threw an imaginary rock at him. "Go on! _Get_ , ya filthy animal! We don't wantcha anymore!"

He cracked a smile and his shoulders lost some of their weight as he bounded down the steps. Lahey turned to wave at me. "If I don't make it back tonight, it's because my dad has murdered me for totaling the backhoe!"

I chewed my lip thoughtfully, but cut back a clever remark that seemed to lighten his spirits a bit before he ran in the direction of the school.

A long sigh drew itself from my lips. I put my hands on my knees and bent over to gather my wits, running a hand over my hair to smooth it before turning to face Derek's new lecture.

I swung the door open and took the steps two at a time as I leaped down them. "Derek!" I called in a sing-song voice. "I sent Izzy off with his lunch box and—"

"Where are your pills at?" His voice was startlingly close. I nearly fell over, my heart jumping into my throat. My hand automatically went to my vest pocket. I patted it and settled at hearing the rattle.

"Why?" I breathed.

"You still have them. They won't work anymore, ya know." Derek crossed his arms in that judgmental way that made me wanna light him on fire. "Might as well throw them out."

I bristled. "That's none of your business," I snapped. "If they won't work, you have nothing to worry about."

He raised a wry eyebrow. "Oh?"

My eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to provoke me?"

A smirk played at his lips and he let his arms fall limp to his sides as he gestured for me to follow him. "Guess I'm not as subtle as I thought…"

"You're really not," I sardonically agreed. "Speaking of which, I wanted to talk to you about your recruiting skills."

"Think you can do any better?" Derek growled defensively, ducking into the cart and going to sit on one of the seats.

I leaned on a pole and lifted a single shoulder. "Probably, but that's besides the point. _You_ can do better."

"I get it." He growled.

"Aren't you going to ask me how?" I smartly purred. Derek's eyes flickered over my form, calculatingly. In a way that suggested he was trying to figure out the best way to kill me and make it look like an accident, and it made me smile, which in turn made him scowl, disturbed.

"Oh, alright!" I smartly gushed. "I'll tell you, stop begging…" He rolled his eyes as I pranced to sit next to him. I crossed my legs and settled back in the seat, letting my hair fall over my shoulders. "Derek, I'm going to tell you something. This is like… the one and only time I will say it. So perk those little dog ears and listen closely…"

His eyes narrowed even more than before, if that's possible, until they were basically slits that were sharp enough to cut me. His arms crossed over his chest, but he leaned in despite himself. I cleared my throat and pursed my lips. "Sex." I stated. His eyes snapped open and he cocked his head in confusion. Before his tiny mind could lead him to the wrong conclusion, I quickly elaborated. "It sells. Especially to lonely, sad, hormone ridden teenagers. The most surefire method I've ever used to sell _anything_ , ever, is to use sex appeal. So, you're like an eight. Eight and a half," I let my hand teeter and he snorted out a cocky, surprised laugh.

I aimed my finger at his nose and leveled a look at him. "Arrogance knocked you down to a seven and a half… I'm not telling you anything you don't know already, so don't look so surprised. My point is that maybe your violent methods you've been using so far aren't the most… efficient ways to convince someone to join the pack. If your goal is to really trick teenagers into doing something, advertise with your body and you'll have more girls than you know what to do with. Actually, I know a few guys who would be down for you, too."

His jaw clenched, and it seemed like he didn't know where to start as he blinked at me. I scratched my nose and smiled widely at him. "You're _welcome_."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Ignoring the fact that this might be the most awkward conversation I've ever had, are you suggesting that I should use sex appeal to seduce a teenage girl into taking the bite?"

I shrugged. "Or boys. Whatever, I don't judge. Whatever puts the wind in your sails." I dodged his punch with a devious snicker, and he brought his fist back to crack his knuckles thoughtfully.

"Hmph." He grunted, mulling my words over. "Did you have anyone in mind?"

I cringed and snarled my nose up. "Have I fantasized which underaged classmate of mine you should fondle and purr at? Derek, come on." I stared pointedly at him and his shoulders sagged in realization. Just as he opened his mouth to apologize, I put my hand up, "Erica Reyes." His mouth clamped shut and he looked slightly disgusted, given what I had just pointed out, but chose to overlook it as he asked who she was. "She's a loner, she's sick, she's desperate. She's timid and naïve. _Ripe_ for the picking. All you have to do is sniff her out."

Derek sighed and sat forward to prop his chin on his elbows on his knees. "Listen, about earlier…" He started. I watched him carefully, not daring to utter a word as I held my breath. Is it possible? Would it be this easy? "A werewolf's eyes reflect... lives it has taken. An alpha's eyes are red because it took the life of an alpha. A beta and an omega have yellow eyes, because they've yet to take a life at all."

"Okay," I said sourly. "So why are mine blue then?"

He sighed through his nose and turned to look at me seriously. "It means that you've lost a piece of your soul. It happens if you've killed someone who's innocent."

Of all the things I expected him to say, that was the last. I felt like he had dumped a bucket of ice water over me. I couldn't move. I was frozen in my spot, my mouth slightly hanging open.

"Savannah?" His voice had taken a gentle lilt. He looked at me with an expression I didn't recognize. I struggled to place a name for it… it was concern, tinged with understanding and empathy. I couldn't remember the last time someone looked at me like that. "This is why I didn't want to tell you in front of Isaac. Savannah." I blinked at him, still unable to breathe, let alone speak. "I'm trying to be honest with you… You could return the—"

I jumped to my feet suddenly, feeling like the walls were closing in on me. "What—" my voice came out strangled and hoarse. Derek rose to his feet next to me, and I darted to the other side of the cart, desperate for space. I turned on him like a skittish animal. "What kind of—sick—joke is this? Who—would think that it's a good idea to—to—I mean, I might as well _tattoo_ it on my forehead—you said that… I wouldn't have to…"

My eyes stared, unfocused and dead on my boots where they stood on the dirt covered metal floor.

"You don't have to tell me," Derek finally said, lingering in the shadows. His eyes slightly glowed red, as they always did in the dark. His gaze bore deeply at me, and I squirmed under its weight. It was all I could do not to run out right then and there. "I get it." An acidic, bitter laugh tore from my throat. "Before I was an alpha mine were blue, too. I _get_ it."

I softened slightly and looked back at my feet. The silence loomed between us as I breathed quick, startled breaths. "No, you don't." I finally whispered.

"There's one question. The only thing I want to know…" He stepped out of the shadow and the light fell across his face, giving me a full view of the morbid expression he had for me. "Was it an accident?"

If the silence was loud before, it was deafening now. His question echoed in my mind.

Was it an accident? I thought back to that night, and suddenly I couldn't block out the sound of _his_ desperate pleas.

The door crashed shut behind me, echoing the thunder that cracked in my memory.


	6. Bad Ideas Are Bad

I'm fairly local, I've been around

I've seen the streets you're walking down

I'm evil to the core

What I shouldn't do I will

They say I'm emotional

What I wanna save I'll kill

Is that who I truly am?

I truly don't have a chance

Tomorrow I'll keep a beat

And repeat yesterday's dance

 _\- Fairly Local, by Twenty One Pilots_

* * *

Buildings hazed in my peripheral as I stalked through the streets. My boots thudded heavily with every step, but it was a new, more powerful beat than I was used to. There was no hesitation or scuffle as my limp leg lagged, because my limp is _gone_. It gave me confidence, this new rhythm to my walk.

Few cars were comfortable enough to come here. It was the middle of the day, but there were still huddles of squatters gathered about the sidewalks. Since it was warm out today, no trashcans burned. They stayed in their own corners. I passed one group and they called out to me in confusion.

"Hey, it's Roman!" A thick, whispy voice exclaimed. It sounded like he smoked about six packs a day, which is probably because he does. I felt my jaw clench at my street name and reached for my hood before I realized I had lost it back in the McDonald's restroom.

"Are you crazy, Polk? That's not Roman! That girl is _fine_ , and she ain't gimpin'." Cackled a cocky teenager. "Hey baby, you lookin' for a—"

I came to a halt and couldn't bite back the venom that built in my chest. _You don't have to do this_ … my voice whispered to me. I blinked down at the sidewalk and listened as the group laughed behind my back. I snarled up my lip and swiped at my newly straightened nose before swiveling on my heels and striding back to them at a startling pace. My hair bounced on my shoulders, my fists swinging at my sides. Jewels, the one who called me a gimp, stopped laughing at his own joke as he caught sight of my face. He stumbled back and the others around him gawked.

Silence stretched over the street as I quickly closed the distance between us and slammed him up against the window of the vacant bakery they had shacked up outside of. The glass quivered dangerously, and I put my face nose to nose with him. "What's the matter, Jewels?" I hissed. "Got nothin' to say?"

"I—I didn't recognize ya, Roman, none of us did—you gotta understand—" He stuttered, his lower lip trembling. I watched him grapple for the ground, his feet kicking out desperately. His breathing hitched and his eyebrows scrunched in fear, the one with the scar passing through it puckered unpleasantly.

"You're fucking pathetic." I murmured low enough that only he could hear me. His eyes flashed and he clawed at my hands, trying to tear them from his shirt. I shoved him harshly against the glass and took two steps back, turning to the audience that had gathered around us. They call him Jewels because he's got a _thing_ for stealing jewelry. "Where's Joey?"

Polk smoothed his ratty coat down and shifted on his feet. "You look… _good_ , Roman. You clean?"

The question resounded in my mind and I opened my mouth to answer, but as the others gathered around me waited for an answer, nothing came to me. Am I clean?

I cleared my throat. "Please, Polk. You know me. Squeaky clean." I winked and playfully batted at his stomach and he dodged my fist with an uncomfortable chuckle, stumbling back a little too willingly. I realized that maybe I had scared them all, with my sudden transformation, and something akin to guilt seeped into my numb heart. And the fact that I could feel anything for scaring these people fanned the flames, and I cleared my throat and slid a hand down my hair out of habit, trying to smooth frizz that wasn't there. "Anyways, where's Joey?"

Polk exchanged and uncomfortable glance with Jules. "Roman, look. Joey has been lookin' for you. You gotta know that. He been sending guys out every day! We thought you died or somethin'! They turned your place over! If you go to him now—"

"Who are you, my fuckin' dad?" I snapped. He frowned at me. "Don't poke your nose where it doesn't belong this time, Polk. I don't think you can afford to get it reattached."

He scoffed and put his hands up, his dirt covered fingers protruding from his matted gloves. "Fine." He bitterly chuckled. "It's your fuckin' funeral. Joey is in the hole."

I ignored the voice whispering at me, scolding me, and narrowed my eyes at him. "He got busted?"

"Yeah, that's right. Around the same time you disappeared. They—" He hesitated, glancing over at the others. They just stayed silent and watched from a distance, not wanting to get involved, but not wanting to stop anything either. "They turned you in to the cops." My mind flashed back to the ambush at the McDonald's, and I felt my chest boil in rage.

"God dammit!" I snapped, punching the window again. Polk took a cautious step back and I shook my head and cursed again. "I fucking knew it. That prick!"

Polk nodded. "Yeah, we were all surprised, weren't we, guys?" He threw a glance over his shoulder even though no one replied. "So anyways, after you gave them the slip, the police got angry. See, they wanted someone to go down." He snorted derisively. "They wasted tax payer's money to get you, you know?" He laughed, and some of the others smirked behind him. "So there's no way they were just gonna let it go. The long and short of it is: Joey ended up takin' the fall, 'cause the cops couldn't let it slide. Someone had to go down."

"We were all rootin' for ya," Jewels interjected. I sent him a heated glare and snapped at him to stay in his lane, and he retreated back into his shell a bit, taking a subtle step behind Polk. I stared at him a beat longer before returning my attention to Polk.

"What an asshole," I muttered. "I hope he rots." I narrowed my eyes and watched them for a beat, tilting my chin up to peer at them down my nose. Polk raised his eyebrows at me as if to ask if that was all. "Who do I go to, then?"

The boys exchanged glances. "I been goin' to Blue."

"Blue?" I scoffed. "That motherfucker is—"

"You asked," Polk backed away and shook his head. "If you're too good for us, that's not my problem. Blue's the new Pick. You should go back to wherever you crawled into the last few days, you stick out like a sore thumb now." He paused. "But at least ya ain't dead."

My lip curled in distaste and I let my eyes flicker over all of them, the wary, distrusting looks they all gave me. I'm an outsider now. I'm not usually so violent, but things are different now. Finally, I turned away to continue down the street. Everyone watched me as I went. I guess Polk had one thing right… I stick out now.

* * *

I scratched my cheek and stared into the mirror, fingerprints smudged all over it. Blue had been as twitchy as he always was, the same punk he was before. The Blue you meet one day is the same Blue you'll see every day, which leaves him predictable, and on the streets, that leaves him vulnerable. I give him three weeks before he's dead or in prison.

I twisted the rusted knob on the sink and furiously scrubbed my face, the cold water doing little to quell the crawling sensation over my skin. A whimper escaped my lips as the memories tore relentlessly at my mind. I need to forget. I can't _stand_ this feeling; I need to make them stop. There's always only been one way to do that.

The plastic bag wrinkled under my wet fingers, which shook as I fumbled with the top. I tore it open and dumped the pills into my hand. They bled their yellow coating onto my palm and I hurried to knock them back, one at a time. I popped them in my mouth and swallowed clumsily around my shuddering sobs. By the fourth one, they caught in my throat, so I stuck my mouth under the faucet and let the rusted water fill my mouth to wash them down. _They won't work anymore, ya know._ Derek whispered in my mind.

I growled and licked the yellow streaks off my hand, wiping the rest down my vest as I slid to the floor. I'll take as many as I need to so I can chase the high.

I felt the middle of my chest burn. It was familiar, the start of it. It burned at first as they settled in my stomach. When I take a lot, it felt like a fire was igniting my insides—slow burning, warm, until they quieted my mind and body and made the whole world... float. Easy... Happier.

But the happiness never came. I slowly slid my eyes open and thought maybe they would just take longer to work. The warm sensation still carried in my chest, creating a strange juxtaposition as I pushed myself off the scummy white tile of the gas station bathroom and stumbled to the door.

The harsh sunlight hummed in my eyes. I felt like my eyeballs were cooked eggs as I smoothed my hair with shaking hands and blinked through my foggy vision, staggering toward the sidewalk. I crossed the street and flipped off a car that blared its horn at me.

The door of the daycare jingled behind me. I relaxed slightly as the air conditioning kissed my tan skin. A wall of mirrors was the first thing you saw, behind the front desk. The receptionist blinked owlishly and I bit my lip as I straightened and put one foot in front of the other to walk steadily. My knees only trembled slightly until I reached the counter and offered her a wide, sweet smile.

"Tammy," I read her name tag. She forced a smile at me. "Maria wanted me to come pick up Re—" I coughed suddenly, placing a well-thought hand to my chest and licked my lips. "Tickle in my throat, sorry. Anyways, she told me to come pick up William for his meeting with June."

"She did, did she?" Tammy's face was all I needed to see she didn't believe a word. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders.

"Yes. William has been working on his sharing skills, so June wanted to take him to lunch with me. He knows me, so she seems to think sharing with me will be easier for William to do." I finished with a cleverly wry smile. "Between me and you, it doesn't matter who it is, William will never wanna share with anyone. It's because he's an only child, ya know."

Tammy's guard fell. She clicked her pen and brought her elbow up to reach for the phone. She pressed a button, murmuring into the receiver briefly before beaming at me. I pushed away from the counter and gathered myself for a quick escape, as I'm ninety nine percent sure she just called the police. "Oh, not for long! I was so surprised when Maria told me she was pregnant. I thought she couldn't have children. It's just such a miracle."

I swallowed my shock and breathed my squeak out as an awkward laugh, but I rolled with it and produced a high pitched, shrill laugh. Tammy's eyes widened at how my laugh sounded. She had no idea that it was fake, so I could understand her alarm. "Oh, you're telling me! William's in for the… some intense coaching sessions with June. That's why they're buckling down with this sharing thing. And Maria is still trying to get things taken care of at work before her maternity leave; that's why she didn't call. She knew you'd understand. She's always boasting about how accommodating the receptionist is; we all know William isn't an easy child to work around."

Tammy giggled and waved my compliment off. "It's not a problem. I completely get it. Try to get him to share without screaming, will ya?" She laughed as the door to the daycare room opened. I nearly fell over in shock and relief upon seeing his face.

His hands flapped around while he spoke, his jacket pulled over his shoulders as the top of his brown curls bobbed next to the ribs of the counselor as she led him out. "…tried to tell him that he should be using the orange crayon, not the purple, for the feathers."

I softened. The tension drained from my body. His face was like a balm to my soul, as I saw his brown eyes lock onto me. He came up short and a smile split his face. "Vannah!" He exclaimed, reverting to the name he called me as a toddler in his shock. My heart swelled. "You're not supposed to be here." I bristled in agitation and silently plead that he wouldn't ruin this, as I sent the receptionist a surreptitious fake look of exasperation.

"Rex, Maria told you this morning! Were you even listening?" I chuckled, waving for him to join me. "We're going to Mario's for lunch."

All logic fled from his mind, replaced by excitement. "Pizza?" He bounced on his feet. "Just me and you?"

"Not this time, bud. June's coming. We're gonna be late if we don't hurry though, come on," I hurried to herd him out the door, sending Tammy a quick wave over my shoulder. "Keep up the great work, Tammy!" I winked, indulging in a dark laugh at the clueless woman.

The heat of the afternoon washed over us. I jammed my hands into my back pockets and licked my dry lips. The warmth in my chest was still smooth, but without the happiness it just felt like a suffocating blanket that I couldn't kick off. It usually didn't take this long, but I shook the thought off as I walked next to Rex. He's here now. That's all that matters.

"What kind of pizza are you going to have?" I chewed at my thumbnail as we walked.

"Cheese." Rex automatically popped back. I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled from my lips.

"Cheese? That's boring! What about Hawaiian?" I jammed my hand back into my pocket and Rex scrunched his nose in disgust.

"Is that the kind with the fish?"

"What?" I frowned. "No. Anchovies, you mean? … I guess I can see why you'd think that. Hawaiian, island, fish. That's a clever thought, but Hawaiian pizza is only the best kind of toppings around... _No_ fish."

Rex skipped over a puddle and looked at my torso. "That can't be true, because cheese will always be the best pizza."

I laughed, gesturing for him to follow me around a corner. "Wait here, bud. We have to wait for traffic."

"I know that." He snapped. "I'm not two."

I smiled secretly. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

He peered at me from the side of his eye, looking at my hair. "I'm not a baby."

"Alright, alright," I put my hands up. "So the toppings of Hawaiian pizza are like… a medley of sweet and savory, that come together perfectly with the sauce and the cheese. It gives a twist to a food that you think you know well. You like cheese? Well, you'll never go back when you try this pizza."

He looked curious in spite of himself. "But I always order cheese…"

"Let's just see how it goes." I decided, and he pursed his lips stubbornly.

"I'll get cheese."

"Okay." I said, careful to make my voice light. "But I'm getting Hawaiian."

"Okay." He mocked. I laughed and, and felt a surge of affection for the small child. We crossed the street and I almost got a crick in my neck when he took my hand. I blinked in shock, but he didn't even look at me as we walked. I tightened my grasp on his hand slightly and slowed our gait. Rex has never voluntarily initiated contact between us; even as a toddler, he would squirm and squeal when I tried to kiss his chubby cheeks. I didn't want the moment to end.

But it did, as we stepped onto the sidewalk, and his small hand slid easily from my grasp. I cleared my throat of its thickness and pointed to the shop three doors down. "That's it," I told him, and he hurried his pace in anticipation.

"It looks cool!" He gushed. I smiled.

"I know, right? Come on, I'll race ya!" And with that, I broke into a light jog. He pumped his little legs with a shout of surprise and called that I had gotten a head start. I matched his slow but furious pace, our feet pounding the cement as pedestrians smiled in gentle amusement at us as we raced to the restaurant. Just before we reached the door, I broke stride and let him pull ahead. His little hand smacked the metal of the door and he whirled around, throwing his fists in the air triumphantly.

"Ha! What do I get?" He asked greedily.

"What do you get?" I asked in mocking surprise as I held the door open for him. He stepped through the door, the cool air carrying us on its welcoming current. I felt a trigger of childhood memories, but focused on the child in front of me as he breathed in deeply and smiled at the thick scent of garlic and greasy cheese. "You kicked my butt! And I'm supposed to give _you_ something for winning? I don't think that's how it works."

"Sure it is!" Rex looked around the restaurant with eager eyes. "I won, so I get a prize." I led him past the tables, tall and black. The interior is themed like a red, white, and black fifties diner. We slid into a black booth and I passed him a menu.

"A prize… you get bragging rights, that's what you get." I frowned and tried to catch my breath, panting slightly. My heart felt like it was about to explode. Then I remembered where I was, and I raised an eyebrow at Rex, daring him to challenge me as neither of us touched the menus. He booed at me and I laughed, "Oh, alright!... I'll let you buy me pizza."

"What!" He squeaked, eliciting a laugh from me. "I don't have any money!"

I opened my mouth to respond, but caught on it as my stomach turned like someone had sucker punched me. I grunted and clawed at it, sensing that something was _wrong,_ very, very, wrong, and a cold sweat tickled my hairline. My heart thudded violently against my ribs, the fire inside flaring into an explosion. I gasped slightly and gripped the table with tight hands, my head swimming, but pushed through it as I forced a smile at Rex. "You don't?" I managed.

He was completely ignorant of my struggle as he swung his legs and swished his hair from shaking his head so fast. "I'm the kid here, Savannah."

I scoffed and swallowed roughly, a wave of nausea rolling over me. "Jeeze, man. You're a sucky date, ya know that? I guess I'm buying this time. But maybe you should sell some of that mop on your head to make some cash, huh?"

He gasped and protectively clutched at his carbon colored tendrils on his forehead. "No way! This is mine."

"You're never going to make any money with that attitude." I teasingly quipped. He started to respond, but an elderly man with salt and pepper hair, wearing a red apron approached us.

"Either my cataracts are acting up again, or that's Savannah Carmichael sitting in her booth!" He beamed, his New York accent like music to my ears as he slid cokes across the table with cherries floating at the top of the ice to us. "It's been a while!... Hey, you don't look so good, kid…"

"Holy shit! You're _still_ here?" I jokingly cried, my voice high with disbelief as I promptly ignored his concern. "Jeeze! I thought you'd retired years ago, old man." He waved me off with both hands and told me to get out of here, saying he'd never leave this place. "Yeah, no joke." I smacked the table in front of me, "Cheese for the kid, and two slices of Hawaiian for me. All on separate plates."

He cocked an eyebrow but flapped his hand in the air as if to clear my words from the air like a fly. "I know your order, hon. Comin' right up." He winked at Rex.

"Thanks Mario," I said.

Rex looked at my shirt. "Where's June?"

"She's not coming." I simply said, taking a long drink from my coke and sighing in appreciation. It did little to quell the storm inside my body, but it did plenty to relax me.

"But you said—"

"I lied," I popped my lips at him and he frowned, stirring his coke with his straw.

"June says lying—"

"How's that going? With June?" I interrupted, but he barreled over me.

"is bad. She told me not to lie because no one will trust me, and then I'll never get friends, which she says I want to have." I rolled my lips into my mouth and grumbled under my breath. "Is that why you have no friends? I bet it is. You should stop lying. It's bad. You'll never get friends if you lie."

My nose twitched. "I don't want friends."

"But I thought we were friends." He cocked his head.

My heart swelled. "We're family. Family comes before friends." I nodded. He blinked at the booth in front of us.

"Oh." He nodded as if he understood, though by the tone of us voice, I don't know that actually did.

"Here we go," Mario sang, sliding the three plates onto the table. He put the cheese in front of Rex and one of the Hawaiian pieces in front of me. I smiled and told him to leave the last one in the middle of the table, digging in my pocket for money, though I had none.

"You better not be trying to pay me," Mario scolded. I bit back a smile.

"I would never." I pulled a cigarette out and winked at him, clutching it with my trembling fingers. His eyes creased with grandfatherly concern.

"Just because you're my favorite, doesn't mean I'll let you light that cancer in here. You can kill yourself on your free time, but not while you're under my roof." He pointed a chastising finger at my face and I breathed out a weak laugh, which quickly devolved into a coughing fit.

It was rough, and disgusting sounding. Fear sparked in my belly, as the last time I coughed like this I had bronchitis, and it nearly killed me because I couldn't afford to get medicine. I pulled my hand back and my heart raced at the sight of a black, sticky substance covering my hand.

I felt their eyes on me. Both of them, Rex and Mario, watching me with alarm. I covertly slid my hand under the table and wiped the nastiness on my jeans, pulling the coke closer to me with my other hand taking a long drink before replying. "Whatever you say, Mario." I managed, my voice weak and queasy sounding.

"You need some Alka-Seltzer?" Mario barked. I frowned in confusion, not sure what that would do to help a cough, and forced a smile as I shook my head.

"I'm good, Mario. Keep those for yourself, the pizza and drinks are more than enough."

He watched me with lingering worry before finally nodding and hurrying off to another table of customers. I looked back at Rex and pointed to his pizza.

"Go ahead." I nodded.

He stared my chin for a few beats longer before pulling the slice of to his mouth. I took a deep breath and picked at my own slice, making a point to groan in appreciation as I took the first bite. Rex watched me curiously as I wagged an okay finger at him, "That's the stuff." I sighed.

He blinked at me. "Is it really that good?"

I pursed my lips and gestured to the untouched slice in the middle of the table. "Give it a shot, see for yourself."

He watched me for another breath before reaching to pull the plate closer.

"Get that corner," I told him, indicating one with a piece of pineapple and ham on it. "You gotta get the full experience."

The door swung open behind us as Rex brought the pizza to his mouth and took a tentative nibble. I bit my lip, as he didn't immediately spit it out, waiting for his reaction with bated breath.

"William!" Maria's voice cried behind us. "Oh, my god! Thank god…" She scrambled over to our booth and made a grabbing motion with her hand to the child. "Get up. We're leaving." Rex finished chewing and dropped the pizza to the plate, and the expression on his face told me all I needed to hear. He loved it.

"But I'm trying new things," He simply replied, making no move to stand. "Savannah just let me try her pizza, it's a perfect medley of sweet and savory!"

I laughed through my dread and sickness as Maria frowned, hesitating before all but wrenching him from the booth. He batted her hand off his arm and stomped his foot. "Okay," I tried to calm her and slid from the booth. "This isn't his fault. Let him finish his pizza and then take him home, back to daycare, whatever,"

"He's _never_ going back to that place! They let some _junkie_ run off with my son, hell will freeze over if I take my business to them, let alone trust them ever again—"

" _Excuse_ you," I cut in, stepping up and only swaying slightly as my temper reared its ugly face in the midst of the bubbling pain in my stomach. Her hand flashed out as she smacked me as hard as she could, and I staggered to the side. I brought a shaking hand up to my stinging cheek and gasped in a rattling breath, choking on whatever black substance had come up before. The restaurant had grown deadly silent, the patrons watching with wide eyes.

Mario came barreling out from the kitchen and Rex shrieked at his mother. I whirled on her with fire in my eyes. She stepped back in alarm, her expression changing as she took in my face. I spit the black substance from my mouth and turned back to her, gearing up to knock a bitch out.

Thick, strong arms latched onto my elbows and restrained me just before I tackled her. Mario strode up with his finger out, pointing dead at Maria. "I think it's time for you to leave," He lowly warned the woman in front of me. "Before I call the police."

"Go ahead!" Maria exclaimed. "I can tell them how this _fugitive_ street scum _kidnapped_ my son!"

I didn't even miss a beat as I thrashed against whoever was holding me back. " _Don't_ call him that!"

Maria straightened in alarm and apparently decided it would be wise to leave, as she took Rex by the arm and hauled him to the door. She paused before pushing it open and turned to call over her shoulder, "You're officially cut off. If you come near him again, I'll let the police take care of you."

I roared at her and nearly broke free of the hands locked onto my arms. They repositioned themselves so that their arms caged me against their chest, as I watched that woman take my nephew out of the restaurant. He looked over his shoulder and dead in my eyes as the door swung shut behind them.

"Don't," A breath stirred the hair by my ear. I bucked like an animal against his vice-like grip. "Savannah. You have to calm down."

"You have to _fuck off_ , Derek!" I grunted.

Mario waved for Derek to lead me back into the kitchens, and he lifted me up so that my feet kicked against the air in front of us as he dragged me away from the prying eyes of the patrons. Mario raised his arms with a calming gesture as he reassured them that the show was over, and I was being contained.

"She can't do this," I snarled. He threw me against the wall and got in my face, roaring at me so loud that the plates and glass reverberated.

His eyes flashed bright red something in my heart seized up, followed by my whole body. My own growls of fury and protest puttered to a pathetic whimper as I froze under him. He seethed above me and panted, waiting to see if I would continue to fight him. I heaved a shuddering cough and bent over my knees, my entire body jerking from the force of my hacks. Derek loomed over me and laughed bitterly.

"Unbelievable." He pushed me against the wall, pinning me there as he dug through my vest pocket. I batted pathetically at his arms, my strength leaving me. I felt the consciousness slipping from me as my body burned from the inside out. He finally extracted the pill bottle and shook it. It was empty, so all he was doing was shaking it. His eyes flashed red and he hurled the bottle against the wall behind us.

I wheezed a cough and blinked drearily, struggling to focus on his very, _very_ pissed off face. "Sorry I didn't leave any for you—"

He punched the wall by my face and turned away to knot his hands in his hair. "I thought… I thought you had gotten _past_ this, Carmichael! I thought we understood each other."

"I understand you!" I neurotically laughed, sounding vaguely like the Joker as I slid to the floor because I couldn't hold myself up anymore. "I understand that you think you know me, and you think changing me—ahm, _changed_ me." I laughed bitterly and shook my head pathetically. "And now, you understand me." He looked down at me, his face filled with disappointment. I bit back a mean retort. "Finally."


	7. Dangerous Pistachios

Look at me, I'm such a basket case  
While I fall apart, you'll hide all my pills again  
And all the things I need to hear you say

You'll watch as all my thoughts get right back on the train

\- _Cellophane, by Sia_

* * *

Derek advanced slowly, stopping next to me. I panted and watched with my chin tucked down, liquid rattling in my lungs and my eyes focused on him. I could feel myself losing touch with reality as he brought his boot down and I heard a crack. My eyes whipped down, where the orange pill bottle now lay crumpled like it was made of paper.

"Well that's just uncivilized," My voice was hoarse and wispy. Something tickled my upper lip, and I brought a shaking hand up to swipe at it. My initial instinct screamed bug, which I knew didn't make sense, but logic wasn't my biggest concern as I looked down at my fingers, coated in the slick black substance. "So, is a side effect of this wolfy thing black blood?"

"It is when you try to poison yourself." He snapped, reaching down to haul me up by my armpits. I struggled to keep upright on my rubbery legs and blinked rapidly at him, my head falling uselessly to my shoulder.

"Agh," I grunted in frustration, locking my knees so I didn't look so pathetic. "Trust me, that wasn't the goal. Or was it? I guess, if I try to look at it from the view on your _throne_ , it would seem that way." He rolled his eyes and kicked my knees out from behind, nearly sending me sprawling to the floor. "Hey!"

"It looks that way from your view of rock bottom, too." His arm slid under my knees and behind my shoulders, sweeping me up as he strode toward the back exit.

"Trust me, _this_ is not rock bottom. This is a regular Tuesday night. Rock bottom was when I gave you permission to bite my arm." I meanly responded on instinct. Immediately, my heart sung with regret, and I put that particular emotion on lock down.

"Apparently neither of us were thinking clearly that night," He retorted, causing me to snort in surprise.

"Ooh, you can bite back." I smiled. He scowled and purposely ran my legs into the doorframe as he shoved us out into the back alley. I opened my mouth to complain, but came up short when he spoke.

"Who was that kid?" He suddenly asked. I blinked dumbly up at him and a wave of fresh pain washed over me, sharp and taciturn. _Rex_ … I swallowed the thickness in my throat and looked down at my black shirt.

"The only thing I know how to do right." I pathetically whispered, so quietly that I assumed he wouldn't hear me. But I didn't say it for him; I said it for Rex.

Derek's jaw tightened and he suddenly picked up speed, his face judiciously blank as we went. I couldn't find the energy to clear the black tendrils sneaking through my mind, clouding my consciousness. I felt like my stomach had dissolved. It's only a matter of time, I think, until I throw up or die.

"You didn't happen to snag that slice of Hawaiian, did you?" I drearily asked as Derek settled my limp body on something. I opened my eyes and looked down. The black seat of the subway cart felt cool and scratchy under my sweating skin. "That'd be a pretty great last meal. Or, I dunno if it's a good idea to eat, but…"

"Okay." Derek's voice was short as he towered over me with his arms crossed. "Listen up, because I'm only saying this one time. This is your last chance. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you might wanna die… But that can't be right, because you accepted the bite, which makes it _really_ challenging for you to be killed."

"You mean I wrote that suicide note for _nothing_? Damn it!" I smacked the side of the metal wall weakly, and Derek's temper bristled as his fists tightened. "The passage from As I Lay Dying took forever to copy. That Faulkner can really ramble, ya know?"

"Savannah—"

"You wanna hear it? Might as well not let it go to waste. I was between two of them, one that goes like this: In a strange room you must empty yourself for sleep. And before you are emptied for sleep, what are you. And when you are emptied for sleep, you are not. And when you are filled with sleep, you never were. I don't know what I am. I don't know if I am or not. Jewel knows he—"

"Is the other one any shorter?" Derek growled, backing up to sit across from me. I wheezed slightly and breathed out a choking laugh.

"Sure it is! It goes: "How do our lives ravel out

into the no-wind, no-sound,

the weary gestures wearily recapitulant—"

"The black blood is your body trying to heal itself." He interrupted, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion.

I pursed my lips and focused on the ceiling and sighed. "My mother is a fish." Derek's hands froze on his face, and he focused on my face without moving a muscle, still pinching his nose. I smirked. "That was the third possibility."

"Can you stop being immature for a second?" Derek growled.

"Okay, okay…" I grumbled, rolling on my side to face him head on. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned his elbows on his knees.

"I can't have you in this pack if you're constantly trying to kill yourself. Do you believe me now? The pills won't do anything for you anymore, they'll just kill you."

I pressed my lips together and looked up at the ceiling. "Why'd you bother?" All mirth had drained from my voice. My throat was tight and my eyes burned. "It would've been easier to leave me there. That's what anyone would've done… That's what _I_ would've done." My voice was barely audible, hardly more than a breath.

"I won't do that." His mouth was tight, tone determined, fierce, as everything that he does is. He stood from his seat to loom over me, forcing me to look in his face. I turned away to focus on the wall, my own jaw locked as I fought back the dubious emotions that rose in my chest, ignoring the venomous whispers in my mind begging to be let out. "I'm not dumping you on the side of the street to kill yourself, or to kill someone else." My breath hitched. "That part of your life is over now. It's time for you to get used to that."

My breathing and pounding heart was the only sound between us, as Derek stared down at me and my gaze burned holes into the wall next to my face. He watched me for a beat more, and when I didn't think I could take anymore, he turned to leave me there. A single tear, hot and fast, raced down my cheek and into my hairline. I let out a shaking breath and closed my eyes, giving up my fight. I let the blackness take me under, limp, exhausted… broken, but healing.

* * *

Hours passed. My dreams were plagued with memories, stained with black around the edges, and by the time I woke up, my eyes burned with the tears I had shed. It was the aching sort of burn. The kind when you're so dried up and done, that to cry anymore would be too taxing and you'd immediately pass out. At least, that's how it happens to me. I rolled myself up to a sitting position and smacked my dry lips. The cart was empty. I strained my ears, but was met with silence. I couldn't even hear his heart. So I was alone, then.

I suddenly jerked to my feet and flew to a corner, clutching my stomach tightly as my body worked to expel the poison. Black poured from me like a bursting oil bin. I stared down at the pool of inky, sticky, wet slowly crawling toward my feet. "Oh, god." I spat more of the nastiness out. "I feel like Topher Grace as Venom…"

"You look like it." Derek said from behind me. I jumped three feet in the air, whirling around with my fist out. I caught him on his jaw and he lurched in surprise. Anger seethed from his pores as he slowly turned to glare darkly at me. I shook my hand out and scowled at him.

"Do you not have a heartbeat?" I massaged my hand weakly and noted the cold sweat on my palms as they trembled slightly, a result of my shock, and also of my weird hangover I've got going on.

"You should _really_ stop hitting me. One of these times, I'm gonna hit back, and you're not going to like it." He growled.

I licked my lips and pushed past him, out of the corner. I felt a little too caged with him lurking over me and growling at me like that.

"Instinct. Can't help it." I simply replied.

"I have the instinct to hit you every time you speak, and I'm able to control it." He dryly quipped.

I sighed through my nose. "Yes, Derek, we're in awe of your restraint."

"Speaking of that, you should take notes. The full moon is tomorrow night." He crossed his arms and I raised my eyebrows.

"Does that mean…" I paused and turned to tap my teeth at him, and he raised an eyebrow for a moment before finally nodding. I hummed thoughtfully, opening my mouth to comment further, when Lahey burst into the doorway. I whirled and shot my fist out, connecting with his nose sharply.

He stumbled back and clutched his nose. "What the hell?" Lahey's voice was shrill and angry as he rubbed at the red liquid that trailed down his lip. "Whoa… were you hit by a train?"

My eye twitched. "Damn. I think my new powers need to be reset or something, I did _not_ hear you coming. Turn me off and turn me back on, that kinda thing, sorry, Lahey. That's my bad… Hey! His blood is red!" I pointed frantically at Lahey's lip, and he scrunched his eyebrows in confusion before something seemed to occur to him.

"Derek!" He gasped. "It's my dad…" Derek frowned at Lahey. "He—he's dead." My eyebrows shot up and I gently punched his shoulder.

"Shiiit... Way to go, Lahey!" I cheered. Lahey turned to give me a look of shocked disgust.

"What did you do?" Derek growled dangerously, stepping out of the shadows like a diva. I chuckled and bobbed my head in approval.

"How'd ya do it?" I grinned sickly, and Lahey ignored me as he stared at Derek.

"That's the thing… I didn't. It wasn't me." He panted.

My eyebrows shot up, and silence fell over the cart as this new information soaked in. "I can't decide if that makes the news more, or less dramatic…" I squinted thoughtfully, trailing off as Lahey gave me another look that screamed _wtf_.

"Ignore her." Derek commanded. I bristled and started to bite back, but he crossed the cart to latch onto Lahey's shoulder as he dragged him out. "Are you sure?" He asked him, emerging into the darkness of the warehouse.

"I—I'm positive. I couldn't—" His voice was thick with emotion, and he had to pause before he could finish his sentence. "I couldn't hear his heart anymore."

"What happened?" Derek frowned.

"We got into a fight. I wouldn't tell him my grade in chemistry, so he threw a… I just needed to get out, okay? And he tried to follow me in his car, but when he found my bike… something found him and chased him down. Derek, it ripped the door off his car."

I bit my teeth together and suppressed any inappropriate comments. I know how it feels to lose someone, and I knew he was probably a turmoil of conflicting feelings on the inside. But, notably, there were no tears in his eyes as he stared helplessly at Derek. I pursed my lips and cleared my throat.

"You should stay here tonight." Derek said, distracted as he mulled this new information over. "Lay low, but if you don't show up at school tomorrow, it would be suspicious. It's easy to explain not going back to your house, tell the police you needed to get away. You're a teenager. Even if you don't want to drag… the way he was with you into it," He tactfully peered at Lahey from the corner of his eye before continuing. "You can still say you got into a fight with him and needed space."

I cocked an eyebrow. "You think he should go to school?"

Derek crossed his arms and looked at me. "If he doesn't, it's suspicious."

"Look, they're probably going to suspect him anyways." I crossed my arms as Lahey's eyes widened in fear and Derek narrowed his eyes at me. "You said that you guys had a fight, right? And he threw something. So it already looks like there was a struggle at your house… and the car is missing, right? When the police go there to look for you and find—"

Lahey had turned to bound up the steps, but Derek plucked him back and pushed him toward the subway cart. "I gotta go clean up—" Lahey irrationally panicked, trying to step around Derek.

"No," Derek commanded as I chewed on my lip, and slightly regretted pointing out the obvious. "You have to _think_ before you do things! What if the police find you at home, frantically cleaning the house? What's that gonna look like—"

"—I have to at least try—"

"Or _worse_ , you come tearing into your yard and the police are already there, looking for you?" He continued, pushing him back to the cart again. I put my hands out awkwardly, as they would probably ignore me, but went ahead and interjected anyway.

"Not to mention that some superstrength assassin just killed your father and might be looking for you now. I know! Let's get you home, ASAP—"

" _Not_ helping." Derek pointed at me and I bit the last part of my sentence, putting my hands up. Lahey sagged in defeat and hung his head. "Just, stay here tonight. Let me think before we make our next move."

He left us both there then, ducking back into the cart as he grumbled under his breath. I peeked at Lahey.

"Hey, kid… I'm… I don't really know what to say. I don't think I should lie to you and say I'm sorry for your loss, because I'm not, and even if I was you wouldn't want to hear that. You're better off without him."

Lahey breathed out a heavy sigh and looked away from the ground, going to slump down on the steps and bury his head in his hands. I awkwardly wrung my hands and grappled for how to handle the situation, hesitating when he began to shake. My mind raced and I pressed my lips together.

"Did you know that… pistachios will spontaneously combust if there are too many in a sealed container at once?" I wiped at my nose awkwardly and shifted on my feet.

Lahey froze and raised his head to squint blearily at me through his tear filled eyes. I brought a nail to my mouth and slowly began to approach him, lowering myself on the step beside him. "It's true. Once, Polk and I—he's a… friend. Of mine, anyway, we were standing outside and this truck blew a tire. It was on the way to a factory so the pistachios could be processed and made safe. We were—" I cleared my throat and ran my hand down my pants without looking at Lahey. "Checking out the inside, but I guess between the fact that there were two of us, and the day was a blistering ninety degrees, and the airconditioning was still on… which felt great, but since we left the back door open, the temperature rose and while the driver went to get help, the pistachios overheated and…" I made an explosion with my hands and Lahey sniffled.

"Are you serious?" He grinned in spite of himself, and I stretched my mouth dryly as I nodded.

"It was the craziest thing. Turns out that pistachios are basically the deadliest nut around, because they suck the oxygen from the air, too, even after they're picked."

Lahey propped his head on his arms and peered at me from the corner of his eye. "How do you know this stuff? And what were you doing in the back of the truck?"

"Enjoying the free airconditioning, eating some free food. Retrieving Polk's knife from the tire." I waved him off and ignored his chuckle as I continued. "It's not important. I know because I saw it happen, and went to the library later on to investigate why."

" _You_ went to the library?" He skeptically asked, his mouth twisted wryly.

"Yes," I indignantly huffed, teasingly tugging my jacket forward with unnecessary force. Lahey laughed and I brushed my vest down my chest, "I read! Just because I don't go to class doesn't mean I don't _learn_. It's hard to make time for a place that tries to throw you back into the shit hole you spend your whole life trying to escape." I locked gazes with him to further express what I meant, and looked away when understanding flashed through his blue eyes.

"Your foster home… Did they try to hurt you there?" I kept quiet and shrugged a single shoulder. "I had no idea," Lahey admitted, something that looked a little too much like shame and a deeper understanding coloring his eyes.

"Don't do that." I curled my lip in distaste and picked up a stray piece of plaster that had fallen from the ceiling, picking at it and crumbling it onto the step below me. "I stole your bike, dude. Don't pity me. I'm a thief and a druggie, and I don't deserve your sympathy."

Lahey looked down and shrugged a single shoulder. "We're a pack now, right? What's in the past is done. You helped change my life, made me strong. I can't hold the way you survived against you."

I looked down my nose at him skeptically, but Derek's warning whispered in my mind. _This is your last chance_ … I sighed and bumped a fist against his knee.

"Whatever, Isaac." Crossing my legs, I settled back next to him and blew a tired raspberry as I pulled a cigarette from my vest pocket. Lahey scrunched his nose in disapproval. "Got a light?" I winked, and he raised an eyebrow at me.

"Must have left it at home." He dryly replied.

"Damn." I grinned, looking down at the newly useless cigarette. And something strange happened… I didn't feel the usual nagging urge to do whatever I had to get that lungful of smoke. I had no desire to light the thing, as I twirled it between my fingers, and frowned to myself before I flicked it down on the step with the granulated plaster. Cigarettes have never been the best part of my day, anyway. I stomped my foot over it, turned to look at Isaac, and froze upon finding his gaze already on me. "Look, man, I don't see you that way—"

"Shut up." He snapped, eliciting a smirk from me. "You're ruining the moment."

I cleared my throat and looked down at my thighs. "Listen, Isaac. Even if the police do arrest you tomorrow, the worst they can do is put you in a holding cell. From what you're saying, it doesn't sound like they have enough to charge you yet… so just relax. I won't leave you hanging."

He frowned at me and watched me wearily. "What does that mean?"

I shrugged a single shoulder. "We're in this together now." He blinked dumbly at me and I turned away, keeping my thoughts to myself.

* * *

 ** _Pack bonding, whoop whoop! :D Review?_**


	8. It's Armani

**_I got this one done so fast, it's kind of ridiculous XD But I suspect one will follow very shortly, so be on the lookout for that..._**

 ** _Guest review response at the end, if you're interested... Enjoy!_**

* * *

Something felt different when I woke this morning. I don't mean the lack of pain coursing through my veins, though that came as an intoxicating relief. It took me about four hours to fall asleep last night because my fingertips and skin still hummed with residual heat from the sickness that kept me down and out for the count for… how long?

I grunted out a gasp and threw myself from the seat I had lain on, brown eyes darting around the dark. Someone's missing. I stretched my hearing as far as I could manage. There was the wind howling outside, leaves dripping with leftover rain from last night and pattering against the grass. I could smell some fresh air that lingered near the exit. It was slightly less mildewy than the crap that filled my nostrils all night. I tilted my head and flitted through the scents, until I landed on one that held an undertone of cedar wood. There. Derek's here.

I would have to rely on scent to find him, it would seem, as I was still unable to detect his heartbeat. I stood straight and strode through the doorway, skipping the steps and leaping onto the cement. "Derek!" I called, scrambling to race along the trail of his scent. Cool, damp air ran its fingers through my hair as I went, and when I reached the end of the trail I stomped to a halt. I looked around and delicately sniffed the air. Had I been wrong? "….Der— _eugh!_ " I threw my arms up and flailed back as he flipped from the ceiling and landed right in front of me, perspiration tickling his brow and staining his white tank top with sweat.

"You're back to normal, I see." He observed cockily.

"What the hell?" I snarled my lip and gestured wildly between the arch he had been… somehow, hanging from. "Do you sleep upside down like a bat? Is that an alpha thing?" Pausing to steady my frantic heart, I looked around the room the arch opened to. It had what appeared to be barrels and various equipment of some kind scattered through it. But I shook that revelation off, as I had bigger fish to fry. "Never mind!" I exclaimed, before he could open his mouth. He raised his eyebrows and I panted, "Where's Isaac?"

"Has he been promoted to his first name?" Derek smartly bit, crossing his arms.

"If you keep it up, I _will_ shave one of your eyebrows while you sleep… Probably that one," I pointed to his left one. "You raise that one at me all the time. It'll be easy, since you sleep like a bat. You'll be eye level." My words might be teasing, my tone was threatening, and he dropped his smile and straightened, dropping his fists as well.

"I was working out."

"Oooh, I am about six topics ahead of you right now! That's good for you, I don't care!"

"He went to practice." No sooner had he finished his sentence than I had dashed out of the room and toward the steps.

"I have to do everything myself," I grumbled, stomping the crumpled cigarette and using the handrail to help propel me forward.

* * *

I skidded to a stop between some trees. They were in full bloom… is that what you call it? I don't even know, their leaves offered a really thick curtain for me to crouch behind as I watched from the edge of the woods. "I'm late, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late," I kept my voice low as I scanned the sea of red and white uniforms for Isaac.

I closed my eyes and let my scent point to him, sifting through heavily axe-drenched scents, residual maple syrup from breakfasts, sweat, and – oh! There he is! A twig cracked under my boot as I hurried to straighten so I could get a better look. When my gaze landed on Scott McCall, I frowned and tapped at my nose, wondering if I was still glitching. That is, until I watched him take a run at Danny. Scott flew out of the goalie's box and bounded straight down the field at top speed towards the gentle giant, and at first I was confused because isn't the goalie _not_ supposed to abandon the goal? Isn't that the whole point? I mean, I don't really play lacrosse or anything, but I'm almost positive that's a basic rule for every sport—and then my inner monologue was cut off as Scott crashed into Danny with the all the force of a fighter jet.

This is Scott we're talking about. Asthmatic, wheezy, sweaty Scott! The same kid that I used to skip gym class with, until everything happened, who had to watch what he ate because he would get high blood sugar and I used to have to tell him to lay off the sweets (that was before puberty though)—and he just took down _Danimal!_ … And then things got really weird.

With all six foot three of Danny pinned to the field beneath him, Scott lowered his helmet close to Danny's, and I'm not sure from this distance, but it _looked_ like he sniffed him. My mouth hung agape as I strained my ears to listen in, and Danny went, "It's Armani."

"What?" Scott's head jerked back, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and blinked dumbly down at Danny.

"My aftershave. It's Armani," Danny grinned, and Scott nodded in feigned understanding.

"I-It's nice…" He nodded awkwardly, before leaping up from the ground and offering Danny a hand to stand.

I looked down at the leaf-littered earth below me as my mind raced through explanations. There's no way Scott's gay, because I'm ninety nine percent sure he and that new girl, the one with the long brown hair and the dimples, got together for a bit last year, and were pretty hot and heavy. So… and this makes even less sense, but it's where my drug-rotted brain flew to, could Scott be… like me?

I shook my head and focused back on the field. "Concentrate." I muttered to myself. "Isaac is out there somewhere, and _oh my god_ there he is. What are you doing? What are you doing, _what are you doing_ , Isaac!"

He cockily stepped up to take Danny's place, tightening his fists on the lacrosse stick in his grip. His head was down as he breathed, and I caught Scott squinting at him just before Isaac lifted his gaze and his eyes flashed yellow.

" _What!_ " I screeched, my hands flying to cover my mouth as I nearly fell over in disbelief and anger. I briefly glanced around to be sure no one heard me before continuing. "The _gall,_ " I seethed, striding through the trees to the field. "The _nerve_ , after everything Derek and I have—"

A hand clamped on my shoulder just before I stepped out of the tree line, and I reached back to… well I don't know what I was hoping to do, since my hand automatically formed into a straight line like some Bruce-Lee-wanna-be karate chop, and Derek caught my swipe like he was playing Frisbee.

He squeezed my hand until the bones shifted, and I growled in protest. "What do you think you're doing?" Derek lightly asked, as if he wasn't twisting my hand in a _very_ intentionally harmful way.

I moved my elbow up to relieve some of the pressure, staggering forward so that I was almost on top of him. " _Me?_ " I squeaked. He raised his eyebrows and nodded, as if to say _obviously_. I choked out a laugh and pushed limply against the thick band of muscles in his arm, "Well, I'll tell ya," I shifted and swallowed roughly. "Isaac's about to blow his cover."

His green eyes snapped up from where they had been narrowed on mine, straight to Isaac, and he dropped my hand to step around me and watch as Scott and Isaac sprinted toward each other. I rubbed my throbbing hand and went to stand next to him, simultaneously wincing and growling as the boys crashed into each other. I knew then, that perhaps my brain wasn't so drug-addled, as Scott met Isaac's supernatural strength head on. They _locked horns_ , so to speak, and spun in the air before sailing back to the earth, where they both slid back separately on all fours. I hummed knowingly as Isaac lifted his head and his eyes flashed yellow. "Can I go now?" I would say that I asked it sarcastically, but since that's my default tone of voice, it just came out casually.

"No." Derek snapped. "You'll be arrested on sight."

I sighed heavily and clenched my fists. "Why didn't you mention Scott?" I huffed in indignation, crossing my arms.

"What?" Derek's voice was slightly higher than usual, born of exasperation and surprise, and I pointed straight at Scott, where he was still on all-fours and Isaac and he were staring into each other's yellow eyes.

"Yeah, they could be a _little_ less obvious about it," I continued. "You know, I'm starting to see merit to your whole ' _You can't play lacrosse_ , brawr brawr brawr, _I'm the alpha so you listen to me_ , brawr brawr brawr'…" Derek turned to me with dangerous eyes.

"Is that supposed to be how I sound?" He challenged lowly, though the way he phrased it suggested there was only _one_ correct answer. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye and opened my mouth to tell him it was supposed to be a Bowser impersonation before something caught my attention.

Suddenly reaching out to pat his chest patronizingly, I stepped away from him. "That's my cue!" I waved over my shoulder, breaking into a sprint. I zoomed to the edge of the trees and didn't stop until I had popped out and onto the field, my gaze locked on the gaggle of officers that marched down the grass from school and in the direction of Isaac. "Stupid boy," I murmured, and felt Derek's raging eyes on me as I all but skipped onto the lacrosse field.

By the time I reached the field, my heart was racing and my hands were shaking. I couldn't help it. It was a habit for me to fear the police, not something that would change overnight, even in light of my new… abilities. I chewed my lip and tiptoed past people, keeping my head down. Funny, how oblivious teenagers can really be when they're focused on a piece of hot, juicy gossip.

All eyes were glued to Isaac as the police spoke to him about forty yards away from everyone else. I cleared my throat and continued to chew my lip worriedly as I slowly made my way closer and closer to the policemen.

 _What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing? This is stupid, this is stupid, this is_ so, so _stupid! How will this help him? I'll tell you! It won't! Run! Get out now,_ save yourself _—_

I flicked the voice of reason off my shoulder and steeled my resolve, pulling my shoulders back as I caught Isaac's eye.

He froze momentarily, his mouth agape as he explained something to the officers. He nearly dropped his helmet, but just managed to get a grip before he could, subtly squinting at me. I winked at him and gestured what was intended to be a calming motion with my hand, telling him to be cool. I promised him. I promised I wouldn't leave him hanging, so that's what I'm doing. Or, I don't know what I'm doing, but it felt right. He shouldn't be alone tonight, for a number of reasons. And the biggest one is surprisingly _not_ because his father just died. It's because it's the full moon.

I came to a stop and settled onto the end of a bleacher, straining my ears to listen when a piece of conversation from the crowd struck my fancy. My brown eyes flitted through the faces until I caught sight of Scott and Stiles, standing off to the side and speaking lowly.

I concentrated hard as I listened.

"Well, are they saying he's a suspect?" Stiles frowned as he leaned in closer to Scott, his voice quiet.

"I'm not sure, why?" Scott dumbly replied. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. These boys, playing detective. Playing with fire…

"Because they can lock him in a holding cell for twenty four hours!"

"What, like overnight?" Scott tilted his head. _Face palm._

"During the full moon." Stiles murmured, pursing his lips. I hummed in appreciation and rose to my feet, cocking an eyebrow.

"Clever boy…" I breathed to myself, slithering between my classmates as I made my way over to them.

"How good are those holding cells at holding people?" Scott asked.

"People, good." Stiles replied. "Werewolves?..." He let that speak for itself, and I was almost to them. I slowed my pace to let Scott finish.

"Stiles, remember when I said I don't have the urge to maim and kill people?"

"Yeah."

They watched Isaac, his tall, lanky form. Where he was handling the questioning with flying colors, might I add, and seemed, by all appearances… harmless. Scott shifted on his feet and turned to look at Stiles. "… _He_ does."

They watched as Isaac was carted off by the police, and I took that as my cue to step in.

"Well that was ominous," I grinned cheekily, clasping their shoulders tightly as I stepped between them. I winked at Isaac as he glanced at us over his shoulder; his gaze halfway offended and halfway worried as he looked between me and the boys. Stiles gasped and tried to flail out of my grasp, and Scott just gaped at me. "And grossly stereotypical. And simply not true, ya know, I can't have you boys spreading rumors like candy here… Isaac has become…" I locked eyes with Scott. "Close to me."

"W-What like, _close_ to you?" Stiles stammered, strangely zeroing in on that fact. I peered at him with curious disappointment. I had just dramatically, and casually, swooped into their conversation about what's probably their biggest secret in the world, and he wants to know about _that?_

My eyes flickered over his face, and I watched as be blushed furiously while Scott took the floor. "Savannah? What are you—" He trailed off as he sniffed me and I squeezed his shoulder until it popped.

"Don't do that." I smiled tightly. He gasped and jerked his shoulder out from under my hand, turning to face me head on, all casual politeness vanishing from his disposition. Stiles stepped back and I tilted my head at Scott. "Yeah, I know your party trick… To be fair, you guys are _really_ good at hiding it. I had no idea, I really didn't. At least, not until you started crawling over your teammates like a search dog." They gaped at me and seemed to scramble for what to say, and I smacked my lips cleverly. "You could use a lesson in the art of subtly, McCall."

"So what, Derek got you, too?" Stiles suddenly spoke up.

I turned to him and nodded gracefully. "Welcome to the conversation, Stiles."

"Whoa, what?" Scott stumbled over himself, struggling to keep up with us. "You're with Derek?"

I cringed and shook my arms out. "Don't phrase it like that. Makes me feel like the Scrappy Doo to his Scooby…"

Stiles snorted and shrugged. "You said it, not me."

My hair flipped over my shoulder as I shot him a look that promised, at the least, bodily harm, and he gulped.

"When did that happen?" Scott asked in what seemed, surprisingly, like disappointment and regret. My face blanked and I was careful to keep it that way. I clenched my jaw and ignored his unexpected, and wholly unwelcome concern.

"I was just going to ask you the same question." I finally said, and Scott tilted his head.

"He didn't tell you?" Scott and Stiles watched me in a way that I didn't like. In a way that suggested that there was a _lot_ I didn't know. My eyebrow twitched.

"It's adorable, the way you two think Derek tells me _anything_ willingly." I said stiffly. Their eyebrows rose in succession.

"It's weird that you're okay with that." Stiles frowned, and Scott nodded in agreement.

I ran a tongue over my teeth and breathed through my nose. "That's not what I said." Stiles seemed intent on projecting that little fact into a larger conversation, but I ignored him. "I was just stopping by to chase down a hunch. I caught it, it was right, and now I'm telling you two that I'm going to help Isaac. I won't let him… maim." Scott's tight stance loosened slightly in surprise. Stiles gaped at me. "Or kill, for that matter."

"How did you know that?" Scott seemed to panic. I smirked.

"I eavesdropped. Obviously..." I laughed, and they exchanged a mutual cringe that suggested they felt violated.

I turned to leave and Stiles' fingers grasped onto my elbow, right where the healed bite lay. I slowly turned my head to glare darkly at him. He dropped my arm with a mixture of embarrassment and intimidation as he took a healthy step back from me. "I was just—I mean, you don't have to stick with him. Derek, I mean."

"He's not who you think he is." Scott warned lowly from the side. I shifted my eyes between the two of them and tilted my head.

"I have no idea _who_ he is yet. What I do know is that he's the only one who's bothered to make the time for me in…" I trailed off and looked down at the grass. "That's hard for you understand, I know, but that means a hell of a lot more to me than a few details that slip through the cracks. I have a mind of my own, Scott, don't insinuate otherwise."

The boys seemed at a loss for words as I watched them for a beat more. I looked away and strode purposefully in the direction of where the police went with Isaac.

* * *

 ** _Review? :D_**


	9. The One With the Musical Number

You're dark grey like a storm cloud

Swelling up with rage that is desperate to be let out

And I know it's a heavy load carrying those tears around

Carrying those fears around, worry makes the world go round

There's a hungry dog tugging at your frayed ends

But he's just playing with you, he just wants to be your friend

So don't worry, don't worry I'm here by your side

By your side, by your side

We're letting go tonight!

 _\- Burn the Pages, by Sia_

* * *

"You," A scratchy voice called out. I stopped from where I had been sneaking along in the hall, turning to see Coach Finstock pointing his little finger at me. "Don't even think about moving!" He strode quickly toward me in his black sweatsuit, and I put my hands up in mocking surrender.

"Wouldn't dream of it." I smiled secretly to myself.

"For someone who doesn't seem to wanna be caught, it was a stupid move to show up here." He growled, and I let him lead me by the shoulder the rest of the way to the office.

"Stupid? I consider myself a… _B_ average student." I covertly glanced at him to see if he caught onto that and he hesitated in his gait before shaking his head. When I last tangled with the police, Finstock told everyone they'd get an automatic _B_ in his class if they could turn me in.

"That's funny. Your records state otherwise," He simply growled. I raised my eyebrows and sighed, bored with this conversation.

I scratched my nose as we came to a stop outside the principal's office, and he brought a knuckle up to rap gently against the glass. He turned to sigh to himself, glancing up at me. He froze when he caught me watching him, and I smirked fakely at him. He returned the gesture as the door was tugged open.

"Yeah?" The sheriff huffed. "In the middle of something here."

I peeked over his shoulder and made eye contact with Isaac, who sat up in his seat upon spotting me. I settled a bit at seeing him relatively unharmed. I nodded once and shifted back so I wasn't leaning around Finstock as he proudly delivered me to the authorities.

Sheriff Stilinski blinked in surprise at the sight of me. Now, he was by no means a stupid man, and therefore knew that if I didn't want to be found… I wouldn't. Simple as that. I waited for the fear to hit me, as it usually did, but it never came. I shifted in surprise. Maybe it's because the fool that is Finstock brought me here, he's the antithesis of terrorization—or maybe it really is just my new strength… but I wasn't freaking out. The sheriff narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously and opened the door the rest of the way.

He called to an officer flanking Isaac, instructing him to come get me. "Put her in cuffs."

"Oh," I jokingly winced. "Already? Aren't you gonna read me my rights?"

"That's his job." Sheriff sighed, letting the officer pass before closing the door behind him. I turned to the officer and smiled at him, letting a little bit of my intimidation seep into the gesture. His mouth twitched as he told me to turn around, though he leaned away slightly.

I glanced around the hall at the passing students as the cool metal of the cuffs kissed my wrists, latching on. He kept the grip relatively loose, for which I was thankful. I used to feel utterly helpless once these things were on my wrists, but as he gestured for me to sit awkwardly in the seat by the door, I found that they gave a little when I pulled against them now. And that made me feel so much better.

Suddenly, the police were much less threatening. I cleared my throat and settled a bit as the bell rang signaling the beginning of class. What can they do now? I blew my hair from my face, sinking down into my seat and spying—audibly, since I couldn't see through the glass behind me.

Isaac was sticking to his story we went over before I went to sleep. "Okay, Isaac. One last time. I'm ready to get out of here." Sheriff sighed. I could hear as he rubbed his forehead. "You were sitting at the dinner table. He asked you about your grades. _Then_ what happened?"

"I told him about all my classes, and when I got to chemistry I hesitated because I knew it would be an issue."

"How did you know he would punish you? What if he just told you to do better next time?"

Isaac's tone turned dry and patronizing. "I've been grounded before. And I didn't want that because of the upcoming game… so I tried to lie. He caught on. We fought. I left. I went to visit my mom's grave, and fell asleep on the couch at work. When I came to school today, it was the first I had heard anything…" I heard nothing but breathing, and the slightly frantic heart beat of Isaac. Whether from nerves or annoyance, it was difficult to tell. They must have already been over this a few times. Isaac sounded almost rehearsed as he explained himself, and I could only hope it wasn't like that the first time he went over it. "That's it."

The sheriff shifted slightly, clicking his pen. "That's it?" I could imagine Isaac's expression as the silence stretched between them. "He didn't get—angry? When you were fighting?"

"You want to know if my dad was angry as we fought?" Isaac dryly asked. "Was he mad when I lied to him? … I think that's kind of the point of an argument… Someone's mad, and it wasn't me."

I snorted into my vest and the rest of the interview was all formalities. I'm sure they're wondering why Isaac is still protecting his father, as it's obvious that someone spilled the beans to the sheriff that he hit Isaac… We decided that it would be better to keep _that_ bit to himself; it would suggest motive. If the police know about the abuse, it didn't come from Isaac's mouth.

The door opened and I looked up at Isaac. He pressed his lips together and didn't look very happy with me, as they lifted me from the seat and pushed me into the office. I looked down at my feet and they steered me to the seat Isaac had been in.

The room was quiet, tensions thickening the air, as I settled into the stiff cushion. Sheriff came around the front of the desk at a leisurely pace. I looked around at all the officers in the room. No one said a word, and I waited for him to begin, as Stilinski leaned against the front of the desk opposite of me. He brought his hands together and rested them on his thighs with a sigh, staring dead at my face. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

 _Well_ , then he would be waiting for a while. I stubbornly glowered up at him, and he simply watched me in return. The officers around us exchanged looks of discomfort and I could smell their confusion wafting off them. Minutes passed, nothing filling the time but our stubborn silence.

"How ya doing, Savannah?" He finally asked.

I pursed my lips. "I'm feeling a little _constrained_ , now that you mention it." My cuffs clicked slightly as I stretched them.

He raised an eyebrow. "Get used to that. It'll be like that for the rest of the night, at least… Have you been going to the therapy sessions?"

I scoffed and sank down in my seat. "Yeah, I went to one last week. Won't be doing that again."

Sheriff scrunched his eyebrows together and twisted his mouth crookedly, and I was struck with how… _Stiles_ the gesture was. I brushed it off as he spoke, "The deal was twice a week. You need to talk to someone, Savannah, you can't live with those thoughts trapped inside. They'll fester."

My eye twitched and my _temper_ festered; he spoke about something he didn't know. "Heh," I breathed through my growl. "Don't patronize me."

"Would you prefer to spend the night in a juvenile hall?" He suddenly threatened.

"Depends. Do they have better snacks? I hear the food sucks, but then, I don't think the donuts Teresa served were edible, either. It's a toss up, really, I would say that—"

"Alright," His voice boomed over me, and my lips curled at his sudden authority, watching him dangerously. "I'm sorry that your brother hasn't been found yet. I cannot tell you how sorry I am for that." My eyes dropped as I panted, the waves of guilt and sorrow swallowing my heart whole. "I went out on the line for you, Savannah. So that I could cut you this deal. Burnell is a tough judge, but he's sympathetic. He threatened to put you away until you aged out of juvy for all the things you've been charged with, Savannah, it took a _lot_ for me to accomplish this. You… have _got_ to step off this path you're going down."

I licked my lips and dutifully remained silent. He watched me with tortured eyes that did nothing to subdue the self-reproach clawing at my heart, and I finally nodded stiffly.

He raised his eyebrows. "What does that mean? Does that mean you'll start going again?"

"Yeah," I grumbled. He leaned in to look more at my face, and I shifted uncomfortably. " _Yes_ , yes, okay? God… I'll go." I paused and blew some hair from my face, watching him step away to gesture to the officers. "Thank you." I added, weakly at the end. He froze and turned to look at me.

He opened his mouth, hesitated, closed it, and tried again. "Just for the night, okay? If nothing else, you'll sleep under a roof tonight. Lord knows you won't go near your foster home like you should…"

I bit back my swell of triumph as the officers came to lead me out of the room. Sheriff trailed behind us and came up short as we emerged in the hall, his gaze focused beside him. I followed his eyes and snorted at Stiles, sitting in one of the seats near the door, hiding behind a magazine. Sheriff watched him incredulously, his eyebrows knit together. Stiles made no move to acknowledge him, visibly holding his breath, and Sheriff sighed before greeting Scott loudly.

Scott glanced away from me long enough to return the gesture, and I pressed my lips together stoically as the police led me down the hall.

I felt like someone was staring at me. You know the feeling, when something just beyond your level of sight is watching you… The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention, and I twisted in my cuffs to look behind me.

An elderly man stood outside the principal's office, herding the boys in. He watched me with one eye until I disappeared through the exit and I turned back around, frowning at the weird encounter. My instincts screamed that I had just been… marked.

The sun kissed my face and I squinted through it, to the street at the bottom of the steps leading to the school entrance. Two police cars waited, Isaac in one. He turned in his seat and peered at me through his window. "Hey," I murmured under my breath as I shuffled down the steps.

His eyes darkened and he turned away from me. I inhaled steadily, my eyes flickering from the cruiser waiting for me to the black Camaro situated off just around the corner…

I narrowed my eyes as I caught a whiff of Cedar wood on the wind, and bit back a smirk. "Of course you own that car… Derek, you better bust us out." The window slowly rolled down so he could glare at me and I shook with silent laughter as the officer opened the back door and I ducked inside.

* * *

I rubbed absentmindedly at my wrists, now free of cuffs as I paced the floor of my holding cell. The station had long since cleared out, leaving all but one officer behind. Isaac had been ignoring me for the past three hours. "If you would just _listen_ to me," I growled, having abandoned the ass kissing routine after thirty minutes. It had devolved to anger, and as the sun disappeared, my desperation to reach out to him only grew. I made sure to whisper, so that the policeman didn't hear me. "I _told_ you! I won't let you go through this alone. Right? You said it, we're a pack! I'm trying—" I broke off, taking a deep breath. My feet grew still and I worked to drain the anger from my voice, aiming for sincere. "I'm trying to be here for you. The full moon is a bitch, from what I've picked up on. Can't you feel it, Isaac? … Can't you feel the difference?"

I trailed off and looked at the cement floor. My emotions, all day, they'd run high. It's like an amplified PMS—a PFM, if you will. Pre Full Moon. It made me feel restless. I shook my shoulders out and started pacing again. "You don't wanna answer me? _Fine_. But I'm gonna do everything I can to annoy the living shit out of you until you answer, so…" I cleared my throat and looked up at the ceiling, tapping out a beat with my foot. "I can feel it… Cooomin' in the aiirr toniight…" I sang, slowly gaining volume. "Hold onn." I spun on my heel, dashing up to the bed to tap out the beat with my hands on the metal frame, steady and slow. "And I been waitin' for this moment… for all my liiiife… hold ooon." I swiveled on my heel and pointed dramatically at the steel door of the cell, where a little window was situated, and I knew it was the direction of where a police officer sat at her desk rooms away. "Well I _remembah!_ I remember, don't worry…" I strode forward, bringing my fists to my chest as I softened my voice. "How could iii ever forget, it's the first tiiime… the last time, we evah _met!_ , met, met," I pressed my hand to the glass and sang to the officer, " _Buut,_ ii, oh I know the reason _why_ ya keep ya silence _up!_ , up, up…" I twirled over to the wall I shared with Isaac and pressed my hands against it, "Don't even fool mee..The hurt doesn't show, the pain still grows, it's no stranger to _you_ and _me!,_ me, me," I pounded my fists against the wall and floor as hard as I could, beating out the drum solo and singing it as well. "Buh-dum, buh-dum, buh-dum, buh-dum dumdum! Well I can feel it! Cooomin' in the aiiir toniiight.. Hold ooonn!"

"Savannah!" Isaac suddenly barked, and it took me a moment to hear him through my singing. I came up short and clamped my mouth shut, licking my lips. "Just… _stop._ Singing." I couldn't help the triumphant grin that flew on my face, even as the police officer outside muttered her agreement. "Please, for the love of god…"

"Alright, alright!" I laughed. "How are you?" I whispered.

"I'm in a cell." He deadpanned. I pursed my lips.

"That's fair," I chirped. "But I mean, any urges?"

"You mean other than to claw my ear canals out?"

"Ew," I cringed. "That paints a picture… I meant, no maiming or otherwise injuring innocent victims? No overwhelming craving for blood?"

"Now that you mention it," He started, and I could hear him stand and walk over to the wall we shared. Something pounded it, a fist or a foot, I assume, before he continued, his voice irrationally angry. "I'd really like to maim _you_."

I opened my mouth to reply, when suddenly my stomach prickled. I slowly rose from where I had sat against the wall, straining my ears…

"Good evening. How can I help you?" The woman officer's monotone voice droned. I frowned and focused, unseeing, on the window to my door. "Oh," Her voice changed instantly, like she was surprised.

"Hi," Derek's voice reached my ears, and my instant reaction was relief. Followed by bewilderment. Because is that a smile I hear? And then a racing heart cut over both of them, one that _didn't_ belong to the woman in the room—and since I still couldn't hear Derek's…

I tilted my head as the conversation progressed. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting someone like—"

"Me?" She breathlessly laughed. I scrunched my nose up and bristled in disgust.

"I was gonna say beautiful but, I guess that'd be the same thing…"

"Oh," I recoiled, my stomach rolling with repulsion. I turned my attention away from them and tried to pick out the racing heart from before… my nose smelled, fabric softener and detergent… something a little more warm, spicy… I couldn't place it.

Beside me, Isaac had grown chillingly silent. I dropped the matter of the third heartbeat, for now, and focused on the volatile werewolf in the flimsy cage next to me. "Isaac." I warned, and something metal rattled in the cell next to me. "Isaac, you gotta cut that out, man!" The rattling intensified, and I could hear him grunting. "Not good, not good, not good…"

It occurred to me that I wasn't freaking out, or… I guess I was. I just wasn't angry. I was worried, I was alert, I was disgusted, I was suspicious… I was a _whirlwind_ of emotions, but at the moment I wasn't angry. I chose to focus on that as a fourth heartbeat crept up from the side.

He smelled like sweat, and metallic, like gunpowder and… I tilted my head.

Blood. Gunpowder and blood.

I cracked my neck and turned to the door in front of me, shaking out my hands as I jogged in place. "Okay… here we go." I danced around and smoothed a hand down my hair. "Just do it." I took a deep breath and steeled myself, before charging at the door and colliding pathetically with it. I growled in frustration and staggered back. "Okay…" I breathed. "Just get angry. That's all, that's what's working for Isaac! Get angry!"

I paused, and silently cursed myself for my stupidity. It won't be difficult for me to get angry. I have _plenty_ to be pissed about! I just… have to open my mind to it.

I tilted my head and exhaled deeply through my nose, as the gunpowder and blood drew closer. In my mind, I conjured the sound of Rex's laugh… the smell of the top of his head… the worn pages of books and crayons… his small hand in mind as we crossed the street…

My eyes snapped open and I gripped the frame of the door, tugging as hard as I could. My voice strained as I pulled, Rex's laughter the soundtrack to my rage that burned in my chest. The metal groaned in protest, encouraging me to pull harder. The tips of my ears stung. I became less and less aware of rational thought. I felt myself loosing touch as my fingertips burned white-hot, and I gave one final animalistic heave. The metal peeled back like the top to an aluminum can, slowly at first, and then quickly. It bent in half and left me just enough room to squeeze through.

I staggered into the room and my hands twitched at my side. My heart raced. I wanted nothing more than to hunt, to feel flesh tearing under my nails. Something cracked behind me. I turned with a growl, and saw Isaac's yellow eyes flashing at me through his newly spiderwebbed window. He roared at me from in his cell. Seeing him trapped made my anger subside.

Laundry detergent and fabric softener… something… warmer. I growled lowly, my long legs making wide, sweeping steps and fingers dragging along the walls. The halls were dark, empty, as I crept along. I paused at a T, tilting my head to the right where I could hear a thudding heart, muscle and blood, thrumming and working feverishly to pump life through a tender but lithe body.

I lurked in the doorway, peering into the darkness with my enhanced vision. It made the blackness obsolete. I had no trouble seeing him, frantically poking at a number pad on the wall, his back to me. The metal box he stood in front of flipped open and I tilted my head, sniffing the air. What is that? Nutmeg?... No… Vanilla, citrus, that's cologne, or aftershave, perhaps, but under that…

He sighed and his knees gave as he sagged a little in exasperation, knocking his knuckles against the limp lid of the box as it swung uselessly.

Blood and gunpowder. I could smell its remnants in this room, and detect it as it moved toward the holding cells. My nose twitched as I heard a slight jingling, my mind flashing to an image of keys, and then to a pair of yellow eyes. I ducked out of the room and quickly stole down the hallway.

"Great…" The detergent scented one breathed in the room behind me. I turned my attention away from him and onto the blood and gunpowder.

He limped down the hall, something protruding from his bloodied flesh. I stood erect slowly, gradually growing to my full height, and he froze as I exhaled roughly through my nose. My chin was tucked down and my knuckles cracked as I flexed my hands at my sides, aching to feel the sensation of skin ripping like cellophane… _his skin..._

I breathed out and smiled darkly as his eyes met mine and they widened, and the sharp, sweet stench of potent fear rolled down from the top of his head and misted across the floor to me. I breathed it in, and he slowly pulled something from the pocket of his jacket, which I now recognized to belong to a police officer.

A growl rumbled in my throat, and I fought the stinging in my gums. I wanted to be lucid as it happened. I don't know how I knew, but I knew that if I totally succumbed to the burning desire I had ignited in my chest, then I would forget the way it felt when I ripped his throat out. And that's not what I want, as I can smell his intention to hurt me back… or worse.

Something caught my attention. I felt my eyes flicker as I looked down and spotted a syringe in his hand, a dark liquid that didn't seem… _harmless_ , shall we say. I couldn't smell what was within it, whether it was blood or some sort of medicine, and in this state, as much as I could smell… This alarmed me. I swallowed another growl and flicked my fists out, shaking their cramped muscles loose. "Is that for me…" My voice was shrill and deep, and a fresh wave of fear rolled from him as he stepped away from me. My lips curled in grim satisfaction and I took a step in his direction, tilting my head. "Or… no. It's for… _us_." His heart skipped a beat. I let out a slow, dangerous laugh, and took another step to him. "That's too bad."

His hand flashed up, the syringe pointing needle first, while the other one went slack and silver flashed in the moonlight as a set of keys crashed to the floor and slid past his foot. He lunged for me and tried to plunge it in my arm. I grasped his wrist and squeezed as hard as I could, satisfied upon hearing bones shifting and cracking under my palm, between my fingers. He screamed in agony, salty tears pooling in his eyes.

Laundry detergent and fabric softener. I froze momentarily and my grip slackened on his arm. He gasped in desperate lungfuls of air, pushing uselessly at my shoulder. I threw him into the wall with a roar and turned slowly to face the boy in behind me, my own age. He watched me with wide eyes. His hands were up and he shook his head slowly. I crouched slightly and a growl rumbled in my throat when he tried to step into the room.

His heart pounded in his chest. I could smell the adrenaline seeping from his pores, potent fear rolling off of him and blasting my own instincts up. My gums tingled and I lowered my chin to my chest, peering at him through my hair as my claws dragged the ground beneath me.

He didn't say a word, as one might expect him to. He might've known me, the way he watched me, but then… I think I knew him. But I pushed that fact to the farthest corner of my mind as I studied my prey, his blood singing to me. I wanted to kill him.

He took a deep, shaking breath, and backed into the wall behind him, his hands always up, his eyes locked on me, even as the door of the cell rattled behind me.

My chest rumbled. I drew a claw along the floor beneath me, sliding a boot forward as I began to close the distance between us. His heart rate spiked. He slowly shook his head at me, unable to form a coherent word, never even trying, and I couldn't help but to…

Get closer.

The cell door finally burst from its hinges and my attention was torn from the human behind me. I let out a threatening growl, and it crackled low like a jaguar's, and Isaac came barreling out of his cell and released a shuddering roar, his eyes immediately flying to me. He bristled in rage and charged at me where I still crouched on the floor.

I backed up and dodged his claws as the swiped sloppily for my face, catching his arm on his swing and letting my own claws dig into his elbow where I had him seized. My other hand snaked around to his shoulder, tucking over it and I snapped his other arm back as I slid my hand over his throat from behind. Crawling up his back, I hooked my knees over his hips and, with my stomach pressed to his back, I squeezed my arm against his neck until his growls puttered into breathy whispers, the air he needed blocked from his lungs. He bucked wildly and slammed us into the wall, but I held tight and squeezed tighter.

The fight drained from him. Slowly, his racing heart decelerated to a gentle patter. His knees slackened, and we sank to the floor. Only when I was able to see that he had passed out on the ground, did I disentangle our limbs and turn my attention back to the boy.

But he wasn't alone. I tilted my head and my nose was slapped with an overwhelming sensation of Cedar wood and smoke… Derek. I plucked the name from my consciousness, and realized that Derek was watching me with red eyes, and the boy stood behind him. Derek and… Stiles. I gasped in a needy breath of air, as the irrational haze seemed to be lifted from my mind like a curtain, and suddenly I could see again. "Took you long enough," I breathlessly quipped.


	10. Wonderwall

"How did you do that?" Derek suddenly asked, still cautiously watching me with red eyes. They looked like they were expecting me to flip the desk or something… I ran my tongue over my fangs and struggled to calm myself. My eyes blinked heavily and I took a steadying breath; Cedar wood and laundry detergent.

"It wasn't difficult… I just made myself angry. Which you helped along with your ghastly flirting," My voice slowly smoothed out to its raspy, sardonic lilt. "Funny how choking back vomit really _grates_ the nerves."

Stiles threw his hand out to me, " _Thank_ you!" He exclaimed. "I thought I was the only one!"

"Definitely not." I nodded, and Derek growled slightly before striding toward me. My eyes widened and I stepped to the side just before he reached me, and went straight past me to my ruined cell door. His eyes flickered over it, curled and bent, and it was obvious that no human could have done that.

I awkwardly smoothed my hand down my hair. "Heh."

Derek huffed exasperatedly, and without even sparing me a glance, he brought his boot down on the hinges as hard as he could. It popped from the frame like it was detachable and plastic.

"Awww," I groaned. "Did you have to make it look so easy? We're in front of a human, Derek, _please_." Stiles scrunched a confused nose. "I'm trying to build my werewolf cred."

"Trust me," Stiles shook his head and leveled a look at me. "You're terrifying."

I smirked as Derek hauled the large door over his shoulder and paused upon seeing both of us frowning at him. "Would you rather me leave this here for the cops to find?" He barked.

I quickly went over the scenarios in my mind. Abnormally curled, six-inch thick metal door? Or one that's missing entirely?

Stiles and I rapidly nodded our heads. "No, no," I stepped to the side to clear his path to the doorway and held my arm for him to continue.

"By all means," Stiles mimicked my arm and we waited for him to pass before I looked back at Stiles, who made no move to follow Derek. He looked at me and I resisted the urge to mockingly lunge at him.

"Shouldn't you be afraid to be near me?" I cocked an eyebrow at him and he held up a finger.

"Okay, one," He started. "It was you or Derek, so…" I lifted a shoulder and granted that. "Two, who says I'm not?"

I squinted my eyes at him and crossed my arms. "You forget who you're talking to." I looked pointedly at his heart, which was relatively steady. It still pattered a little too quickly, but nothing like it was before.

He followed my eyes to his chest before shifting on his feet with an uncomfortable scoff. "I have some experience with bloodthirsty werewolves. Don't confuse confidence with trust," he shook his head. "I don't trust you; you're with Derek. That doesn't exactly say good things about your judgment skills."

I put a mockingly offended hand to my chest. "Ouch," I rubbed. "I thought we had really connected in class, ya know?"

He sighed and opened his mouth to retort when Isaac stirred on the floor. We both slowly looked back to each other, and he jumped as if startled. "Don't look at _me_!"

I barked out a laugh and waved him off. "Go. See you in English, partner." He seemed to want to comment further on that, but Isaac's eyes opened. I stepped between the two and snapped at Stiles to get out, holding out a steady hand to Isaac. "Easy there, boy… Heel!" Isaac lurched to his feet and growled lowly. I tilted my head and squatted slightly, my hand still out to him like he was a wild animal. "Don't you snarl at _me_ , Lahey!"

His head tilted, mimicking me as he moved slowly to me. I could see that his mind was spinning, working through his muddled senses as he tried to place me. I placed a hand to my chest and nodded, breathing calmly. "Easy does it." I nodded, and he blinked slowly at me, hesitantly lowering his snarled lip. "You're okay. We're okay…"

He huffed as if just finishing a marathon, and his eyes flickered between yellow and blue. Reaching out slowly, I smoothed my hand over his and lowered my chin, letting my eyes shift momentarily. Recognition sparked in his eyes, but before he could get pissed again, I latched onto his hand tightly. "We're in this together."

He gulped and his eyes finally dimmed to their natural cerulean, as he slackened his shoulders and slowly stood straight. I smiled and let out a breathy laugh. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

He blinked rapidly and I let go of his hand, taking a wide step away from him. "Let's get out of here before Sheriff Stilinski finds us and throws us back in,"

That was enough to send him skittering behind me as I led the way out of the station, stepping over the unconscious man in the hall along the way.

* * *

"You sure this is a good idea?" Derek asked, peering at me from over his sunglasses. I sighed through my nose.

"I can't take you seriously right now." I waved at his sunglasses and then all around us. "We're inside a car, with windows that are tinted so black I can barely see out of them… and I can see the veins in the leaf of that weed poking through the sidewalk if I squint hard enough. There's no reason for you to have those on."

"Fine," He snapped, flipping the sunglasses to the top of his head. "Didn't you skip school every day before this all started?... I'm just not sure you've thought this through."

I ran a hand through my tousled black hair and considered his question for a moment. "Okay." I turned to face him head on. "It's true, I have skipped my fair share of classes. But that doesn't mean I want to drop out! I go to class just enough to keep the monkey off my back."

He glanced through the windshield.

"The monkey being the principal." I quickly added, he snapped at me that he understood. I put my hands up with a smirk. "You seemed confused. Anyways… Now that the police aren't tapping my coordinates out on the airway like I'm FBI's most wanted, I need to play by their rules for a bit to stay out of jail. Neither of us want that, right?"

He raised an eyebrow and looked like he was about to disagree with me, but I barreled over him. "Besides, this benefits _both_ of us!"

He snorted. "This should be good…"

"I can be your eyes and ears. Except prettier, and smarter." I smartly winked. He growled lowly and punched my shoulder hard enough for me to choke out a pained laugh. "Think about it! This way, I can scope out recruits… Keep an eye on Scott and Stiles, so they don't ruin it for us all, _and_ I'm building trust with the authorities again—Derek, _this_ is the best idea we've had to date."

He sighed heavily and sat on it for a moment before nodding his head. "Alright, Nancy Drew. Get out of my car."

"I was thinking that I'm more the Sabrina Duncan to your Charlie Townsend."

"Out!" He barked, and I snickered to myself before leaping from the car to escape the stifling hostility.

As soon as my feet were on the pavement and the door was shut, Derek pulled away so fast that his tires squealed. I watched him race away with a sour smile and froze slightly when I realized it had drawn attention from my classmates as they filed into school.

I scowled and ducked my head faintly. Before going to school, we swung by the gym this morning. Derek worked out in an _actual_ gym, and I took the opportunity to shower. When I stepped out of the locker room with new shorts and a red leather jacket over my black v-neck, he had given me a dry look of exasperation. I recalled the way I had pursed my lips and shrugged at him, muttering something about finder's keepers before shouldering past him.

Now, as I made my way up the steps, I pressed my lips together and ignored the hungry stares of hormonal teenage boys. It seems that a little bare leg and confidence is all it takes to get boys going these days, as I strut through the hall in my boots.

That prickly feeling swelled in my gut, and I looked over my shoulder. Scott and Stiles were murmuring to each other conspiringly, ogling me. I sighed heavily and shoved the new sleeves of my jacket up my arms before jerking my locker open.

A flood of tangy, bitter, and somehow… sweet, hit my nostrils. They flared as I gazed at a crumpled bag hidden under my dusty chemistry book, and I cleared my throat before grabbing my gym bag and slamming the blue metal door shut. I'm not quite ready to deal with _that_ particular piece of history. The pills may come in handy later, if I want to sell them, but for now they only serve as a taunting memory.

I turned to face down the hall and suddenly wished Isaac didn't have to hide out with Derek all day. For the first time in a long time, I felt the unwelcome sting of isolation as the kids in the hall seemed to go out of their way to give me a wide berth. I clenched my jaw and made my way to class, second-guessing my decision to come today.

Turning the corner, I crossed paths with Jimmy. He froze upon seeing me and narrowed his eyes viciously, muttering under his breath before shouldering roughly past me. I bit my tongue and tilted my head, counted to ten, and forged on.

* * *

I lingered near the back of my classmates. My sweatpants brushed against my smooth legs, and I purred slightly in appreciation. Perhaps I should take these back to the warehouse; it's been a long time since I've slept in anything but jeans…

Funnily enough, Finstock had yet to notice me—he picked me out so easily before. Then again, I wasn't exactly trying to keep a low profile yesterday, either… I let my eyes trail over to Erica's frizzy head of blonde hair, watching as she made every effort not to draw attention to herself.

I listened to her heartbeat, steady and strong. Something about her scent was wrong. It was slightly… sour. Faint, but detectable under her peachy lotion she used, the scent called a dead carcass to mind, and it was altogether unnerving. I wondered if I was able to smell sickness on people.

I was so immersed in my thoughts that I almost missed Stiles coughing loudly near me. My eyes flitted over to him distractedly, but I did a double take upon finding him staring straight at me. He was doing a poor job of pretending not to watch me. A smirk curled my lips as I looked over his blue t-shirt and black basketball shorts, and he shifted uncomfortably, his face igniting. I wondered if his heart kicked up from being caught, or from being watched. Perhaps it was both.

Before I knew what I was doing, I slid around classmates as they watched Scott and Allison climbing the rock wall and strolled up next to Stiles. My eyes were focused on the couple as they competed and teased each other, but my attention was on Stiles as he pretended not to notice me.

I pursed my lips and looked down at my sneakers for a moment. Suddenly, I jokingly lunged at Stiles, and he staggered away from me. I barked out a devious laugh and he scowled at me.

"I was hoping you were joking when you hinted at coming to school." He admitted, and I shrugged.

"What can I say? I just couldn't stay away," I took a sick sort of enjoyment as I closed in on him, and for every step I took to him, he matched with taking a subtle one away from me. "You're just…" I tilted my head and sniffed at him lightly, smirking at the way his heart accelerated. "Too fun."

"All right." He snapped. "That's enough."

I raised my eyebrows and pursed my lips. "You sounded _just_ like your dad right then."

"Did you sniff at him, too?"

I laughed darkly. "Not quite."

"So what gives?" He continued as if I hadn't brought his dad into this at all. "Why the sudden _burning_ desire to excel in school? Don't tell me you've finally seen the light."

"Actually, I'm glad you asked." I shoved my hands in my pockets and let my hair fall over my shoulder. "I _have_ seen the light, Stiles. And it is so..." I caught his eye, a smile playing at my lips, "Welcoming."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Well, you can't be talking about Derek. A lot of adjectives come to mind when I think of him, but welcoming is _not_ one of them. Daunting, sure. Prying, definitely. Dangerous—conceited, maybe?"

I smiled in amusement. "Gee, you're funny."

He glared at me. "What's your angle? Hmm? Did Derek send you, so you could try to lure Scott—"

"Stilinski!" Finstock bellowed, his finger aimed at Stiles' face. "Erica." My head snapped to see her frizzed hair as she looked up at the wall in dread. "You're up."

Stiles seemed caught between being excited that he was up against such an easy opponent, and the need to finish our conversation. His brown eyes flitted to a new corner of the room. I raised an eyebrow and followed his longing gaze, and rolled my eyes when I saw Lydia standing nearby. She had a ridiculously tiny purple tank top on, coordinating shorts, and was currently inspecting her nails with disinterest. She practically _reeked_ of vain self-involvement, but as I looked back to Stiles, it was clear to me that he and I might be looking at the same girl… But we did _not_ see the same person. I watched as his hunger to show off in front of Lydia won, but my hand quickly flashed out and I shoved his chest back to step in front of him. "Actually, coach, I was wondering if I could give it a shot!"

Stiles gasped and started to protest, but Finstock interrupted him. "Carmichael? What—what are you doing here!"

I blew out a short sigh and raised my eyebrows, looking around the gym. "Well, I'm pretty sure I'm in this gym class, so…"

"I meant, _why_ aren't you in custody?" He growled, apparently _very_ unamused by my retort.

I scratched my nose. "Good behavior?"

"I don't think so," He started stomping toward me, and I shifted uneasily.

"No, it's true! I was only being held on a minor charge. It was really just the police covering their ass, so… um. They could only hold me for a night. I'd really like to give the rock wall a shot, if that's okay with you."

My classmates whispered furiously as they realized who I was. Finstock watched me through narrowed eyes, weighing his options. "Okay…" I ignored Scott's heated gaze on me as he stepped from the mat, and Finstock continued. "Okay. But I'm going by the office to confirm your story at class break, and if I hear so much as a _hint_ that you're lying to me, I will personally haul your ass back to the station with a bow on top!"

I smacked my lips and mockingly saluted at him. "Wait, you'll wear the bow or…" He jabbed a warning finger at me, and I put my hands up. "I just want to be clear what the plan is."

"Well, hopefully we won't need it, _right?..._ Carmichael and Erica, you're up." He watched me with suspicious eyes as I sauntered past him and approached Erica.

I began to strap myself in, listening as her heart began to race. Her breathing trembled as she kept peering up to the top of the wall, and I mulled over what to say to her.

"Jeeze, kid." I jerked my chin at her and looked at her harness. "You might wanna lock that carabiner. It's the only thing that secures you to the harness; things could get ugly if you don't."

Her heart picked up speed as she peered down with wide eyes, fumbling helplessly at her harness. I sighed through my nose and reached over to click the carabiner into place. Her hands shook where they gripped the straps of her harness, and I nodded reassuringly to her. She watched me with doe eyes, confused and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I turned away from her and began to ascend the wall. Her heart set my pace, as I easily made my way to the top. In spite of my efforts to ignore them, the furious whispers of my classmates bled into my ears.

"… _Savannah Carmichael, I'm telling you! Look at her!..."_

 _"Can't be. Look at her scaling that wall."_

 _"I heard that she's in_ therapy—" someone sucked in a gasp " _—exactly!"_

 _"Maybe her limp was all in her head."_

 _"It would explain a lot."_

 _"Who knows?"_

 _"She's got problems."_

Anger boiled under my skin. I gripped one of the plastic rocks a little too hard, and as I tugged myself up, it nearly fell out of the wall. My breath caught in my throat and I froze in my tracks, stabbing it desperately back into the wall. But a screw fell out, plopping onto the mat, and it dangled limply from the fake gray wall. I grunted in exasperation and skipped the rock, finishing my climb before quickly switching directions.

Erica grunted below me with every pull she made, sluggishly moving up. Her hands and legs shook so hard that I could feel the tremors as I made my way back down to her. She didn't get past the first few rows of 'rocks', frozen on the wall and gasping for air. I raised my eyebrows at her.

"Erica." I calmly called, and she whimpered, her eyes flicking between the wall and me. She couldn't even muster the courage to move her head. Her heart was racing so fast that the beats began to blend together, and sweat now intermingled with her scent wafting toward me. I sighed heavily. "Erica… What are you so afraid of? You've got that harness strapped on. You've got a mat below you."

She opened her mouth and breathed out a shaking breath before she was able to gather her courage enough to reply. "I—I can't move…" Her lip quivered pathetically. I gnashed my teeth together and reached over to touch her hand. "Don't!" She shrieked, and I frowned at her.

"Calm down!" I commanded, and Finstock called up to us to ask what was going on. "I'm _helping_ you, damn it." She squeezed her eyes shut and I gently pried her fingers from the rock, latching onto her hand. I placed it over a rock below her, positioning her fingers firmly over the plastic. "Now you." She peered at me through cracked lids, panting quick breaths. I nodded to her other hand and repeated myself. "Just keep doing that. Take your time…"

She shakily exhaled and gripped onto the rock I had forced her to grab like her life depended on it, slowly lifting the fingers of her other hand off one at a time. Her brown eyes crawled down the wall until they landed on a red one just below her elbow. With a trembling hand, she cautiously grabbed it.

"Foot." I simply reminded her. She took a deep breath, a bit steadier than before, and testingly scooted a toe off the rock she was on. She hadn't properly taken her weight off that rock, and she slipped.

A scream tore from her throat, breaking into shuddering whimpers, and I commanded her to calm down. "Erica!" I said lowly, climbing a little closer to her. "Ignore those assholes, okay? Screw them." Our classmates snickered below us as I stared into Erica's scrunched face. "…Foot."

She cracked her lid open and watched me for a few seconds, clenching her jaw with determination. Her foot slid back again, this time jerking down to a new rock.

Her whole body lowered slowly, unsteadily, but she lowered herself down another rock. And another. I moved next to her, and she looked up at me with a terrified smile. She opened her mouth to speak, but apparently she broke her concentration.

Her foot missed the next rock, and her hands were so sweaty that she couldn't keep a good grip on the rock. She sailed through the air, dead weight, and snapped up as the rope caught her just above the mat.

My shoulders sagged in defeat. I shook my head and climbed the rest of the way down. Finstock was murmuring gently to Erica and guiding her by her shoulder off the mat, my classmates all sneering and giggling as she walked away from the wall.

I looked up and made eye contact with Scott, who watched me with apprehension. Stiles was just behind him. His eyes were filled with a dark understanding, and he whispered to Scott, knowing that I would hear him. "I told you she was here for Derek. They're up to something."


	11. Carpe Diem

When you are forced to survive on the streets, you pick up a few tricks. How to become invisible in plain sight, for example…

I'll admit it: She made it too easy. There are no steps you can use again and again for hiding in plain sight; it's all a matter of skill, and precision. I've always loved a good challenge, but she just made it all too easy.

So I know a thing or two about blending. My girl Erica did, too. It surprised me; I wasn't expecting it. She zoomed straight for the restroom after her little melt down, staking her claim on a stall, and she waited. Hardly any girls use the stalls in the locker rooms. They're gross, unkept, forgotten. Poor lighting, so no classmates touching up their makeup or hair. Quiet.

I lagged behind and sat on a bench in the locker room, waiting for her to tiptoe out of the stall when the next class began, and I ducked into the showers to watch her leave.

And here we are. The gym was pitch black, except for the lights that never go off. One of those lights happened to illuminate the rock wall. The mat was gone by now, as Finstock decided maybe it was time to retire _that_ particular exercise for the day, and the harnesses were taken down, too.

She looked up at it, her heart picking up speed. It looked bigger under the inadvertent spotlight that the automatic lights shed; taller somehow. I tilted my head and she breathed out slowly.

I watched her climb. I watched her get pretty high, too. Actually, I thought she was having a breakthrough or something… and then she panicked.

I shook my head and stepped out of the shadows. "Erica," I started, and then I froze. Something was _wrong_. It was like a flip in me was switched, and I was frozen—physically, mentally… My vision became fuzzy, I felt overcome with disorientation. My mind was a muddle of slippery shadows, passing too quickly for me to get ahold of; my palms were cool, but they sweat; my mouth was flooded with the taste of blood.

And then it was gone. My entire body gasped, like I coming out of being submerged in the middle of a lake for too long and I brought my hand away from where it clutched at my chest, watching as it trembled.

My coffee colored eyes changed, glowed bright azure, and I darted to the rock wall just as Erica seized up and came tumbling from the wall. She knocked me off balance, and sent us both sprawling to the wooden basketball court. My head snapped against the waxed floors, and if I weren't supernatural, it probably would've _really_ hurt. As it was, I had squeezed my eyes shut on instinct when she knocked me to the ground, and I didn't need to open them to know I wasn't alone anymore.

Laundry detergent and some sort of spice. Still, I couldn't name it. Frankly, it was beginning to piss me off. Of course he wasn't alone; Scott's scent was one of strong (albeit pleasing) cologne, and under that… Something more… _wild_.

I growled lowly in my throat as I rolled Erica out of my arms, and a wave of cherries and perfume hit my nose as the brunette dimpled girl skidded to a stop beside me.

"Roll her on her side!" She commanded, her voice high and panicked. I blinked at her and looked down to Erica, doing as she said, before looking back up at her.

"What the hell are you guys doing here?" My voice was strained and breathless, and Stiles pushed past Scott to point an accusing finger at me.

"We'll be asking the questions here!" He aimed for authoritative, I think, but this is Stiles. My immediate reaction was to choke back a laugh, but when I turned and saw his enraged face, I scrunched my eyebrows at him and looked to Scott.

"What?" I pulled Erica's hair out of her face, where it was sticking to her sweaty face. Briefly, I wondered if this is what I looked like when I overdosed that one time.

I shook my thoughts off as Stiles continued. "What did you do to her?" He demanded, and Scott and Allison glanced from me to look at each other with hesitant expressions.

I stared up at Stiles for a minute as Erica continued jerking, unable to process his accusation. "Me?" I asked, my voice coming out a little too vulnerable. I felt my heart clench as my classmates stared at me, the realization hitting me like a freight train. "You think _I_ did this…" It might've been a question, but it came out as a furious snarl.

 _Unbelievable,_ my voice of reason hissed. "Stiles…" Scott put a hand on his shoulder and stepped closer to where Allison and I were still on the ground with Erica. I looked away from them in disgust and moved her head to my lap, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "I don't think it was her."

Allison's wide eyes watched me closely as I ignored the boys, and Stiles' voice hit an all-new high. " _What_?" He screeched.

"I don't think Savannah did this! I…" He broke off, looking to Allison with wide, bewildered eyes. "I felt something. That's how I knew to come here—it was weird, it was like I knew something was happening to her."

"Yeah, it was probably your instincts trying to tell you that a _slaughter_ was about to happen," Stiles growled. I felt my muscles clench tightly, unable to look at the boys in the face as I focused all of my energy on the sick girl below me. "It wouldn't be the first time Derek's done something like this! You both know that, come on!"

"Stiles!" Allison loudly admonished, causing both boy's heads to whip in our direction. It grew quiet, but I didn't even bother to look up as Erica's tremors died down. My teeth ground together, and without acknowledging any of them, I slid my arm under her shoulders and her knees.

I quickly rose to my feet with an unconscious Erica in my arms and stomped through the gym, ignoring Scott's calls. As I strode through the dark, manic whispers erupted behind me. I shut my mind off to them and huffed violently through my nose as the lights coming from the hall peeked over my toes, and I turned to bump my hip into the doors.

"Savannah, wait!" Scott slid to a brisk walk next to me as I stamped through the hallway. "Stiles, he can be—cynical. When we found you two in the gym, it looked…"

I growled out a bitter chuckle. "Do I look like I care?"

He clamped his mouth shut and I could practically hear the gears in his mind clicking madly as he tried to think of what to say. "Savannah, I know you—you would… I mean, a lot of things changed, I know that. But you would never…"

"Yeah, that's touching. Tell ya what, why don't you tighten the leash on your little guard dog, okay? If he comes in my yard one more time, I might have to find a gun."

Scott stopped following, but I could feel his regretful gaze burning into the back of my head as I snapped at our gawking classmates to get out of the way, heading straight for the nurse's office.

* * *

Funny, how when something is taken from you it can feel so… important. I needed to see Rex like I needed air to breathe. My skin was getting itchy, the necessity burned so brightly in me. I couldn't focus on anything. I couldn't sit still. One could compare this sensation to jonesing, but Rex is pure and light. He's everything that drugs aren't to me.

He couldn't make me forget—quite the opposite, really. But he's the one thing in this world that can make me remember, and make me feel better all at the same time. He's like some sort of merciful angel, some sort of miracle that I didn't deserve. As I opened the door to the warehouse, I pushed that need down as hard as I could.

"Derek," I called out, my jaw tight as I bound down the steps. "I've got news."

He stepped out of the cart with Isaac trailing behind him, raising his eyebrows at me expectantly. I marched up to him and tried to quell the itching sensation crawling across my skin. I know what brought this on. I know what's made me so desperate to feel… important. To feel loved; to feel wanted and accepted. Completely free of judgment. My mind, against my own free will, flashed back to the expression on Stiles' face as he accused me of…

Rex is the only one who offers love to me, the only one willing to grant me that. But I have to keep my distance from him. I've got a good thing going here with Derek and Isaac; I can't jeopardize that by running into Maria. There's just no way. I would just have to push through it. Besides, Rex is probably better off without me there to poison him, anyways. Maybe Maria had a point. Maybe… maybe she's right to protect him from me.

"Well." Derek crossed his arms, glancing back at Isaac. "Don't keep us waiting,"

Isaac, as oblivious as he can be at times, saw something in the way I stood. His eyes darkened and he took a subtle step toward me, concern painting his lean face. "What's wrong?" His voice was lilted with dread. Derek's eyebrows downturned slightly, and he dropped his arms to study me more closely.

"My rookie went and bought herself a token to the ER today," I smiled fakely, and swung my fist in a mockingly celebratory fashion, hooking my elbow. "And she just cashed it in!... Hurrah!"

Derek was already headed for the stairs. "What happened?" He called over his shoulder, and I didn't bother to follow him as I answered.

"She's epileptic! I think she took my advice too seriously when I told her to carpe diem." Immediately after I said it, I was flooded with guilt. Derek didn't even comment as the door slammed shut behind him, but I winced at Isaac and shook my head in disgust. "Ah," I cringed. "I'm an awful human being… the worst in history maybe, the most abhorrent one to plague Beacon Hills!"

"That's false," He put his finger up to wag it at me with thinly veiled reproach. "You're a not a human."

I snorted out a laugh in spite of myself, and smacked his finger out of my face. "Shut up," I grinned, and he smiled.

"I never knew you were so self loathing." He turned to walk duck back into the cart, apparently expecting me to follow. When I didn't, he poked his head back out with a mocking pout. "Aww. You wanna talk about it?"

I sighed heavily and bit back a smile, shoving his forehead back so I could step into the cart. He backed up with a wily snicker, and hopped over to sit on one of the flimsy seats. "You're a real asshole, ya know that?"

He nodded his head, shrugging his shoulders as his hands came up as if to say, ' _What can ya do?_ ' I settled into the seat across from him and sighed in exhaustion. Propping my arms up so they lay across the top of the seats, I tilted my head lazily on my shoulder.

"I think this werewolf blood makes me grumpy," He suddenly said.

"Or maybe it was there all along, hiding beneath that timid disposition of yours." My voice dripped with feigned pity, and I sat still as he swung his foot out to try and kick me from across the cart. The thing is, there's about six feet of space between the seats. Isaac is tall, but even _his_ legs aren't that long. His foot clomped the ground pathetically, causing me to stare at him with a dry expression. "You missed." I flatly informed him.

"Humph." He returned in the same tone, looking down at his foot as if expecting something to happen. "That's weird."

I rolled my eyes and smacked the wall restlessly with a loud sigh. "This place needs something to spice it up."

"Something, like drugs something?" He strangely jumped to, and I turned to give him my best _wtf_ face.

"Nice," I sneered. "Um, _no_?" I ran a hand through my hair and looked away. "I was thinking more along the lines of music. Speakers. Some ambient lighting."

"So basically, you want to put a club down here." He pointed out.

"What?" I laughed, and then hesitated. "Actually, no, yeah. That'd be cool."

"Okay, well you go set up our rave, and I'll get started on the pool. Say, where do you think Derek would like the foosball table better, that murky corner, or the one under the stairs?"

I groaned and threw my head back, "Fiiiine," I whined. "God, boys are so boring! I can't wait until Erica gets here."

Isaac snorted and shifted to a more comfortable position. "Derek said something about you going to a group therapy session?... Laaame."

I pressed aggravated fingers into my closed eyes; massaging and praying that when I opened them, this would all go away. I opened them and blinked testily at Isaac. "Ugh." I grunted. "I forgot about that…" I sighed heavily and forced myself to get to my feet. "Yeah… I guess that's where I'm headed."

My boots dragged the dirty floor as I unwillingly shuffled toward the door, and Isaac called out to me. I stopped at the threshold and turned to peer over my shoulder, half hanging in the cart, and half out. "I…" He started awkwardly, rubbing his neck and looking away from me. "I wanted to thank you. For what you did during the full moon. And also to apologize, because I was _really_ pissed off, and it was just after…"

Something close to affection touched my chest. I shrugged a single shoulder and smirked crookedly at him. "The werewolf blood makes you grumpy, I think."

He breathed out a laugh and pursed his lips, looking back at me. "…Yeah."

"You feelin' pizza tonight?"

"Of course," He pulled a random ball from his pocket and tossed it against the seat I had just been sitting in, effortlessly swiping it from the air when it ricocheted back to him.

I paused and almost asked, but ultimately decided it against it. And with that, I grudgingly left the warehouse.

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	12. Allegory of the Cave

_**Holy crap! Thank you guys so much for the enthusiastic responses to last chapter! XD It really inspires me to write more for you when you respond like that. so this chapter was inspired by a request from my wonderful friend Julia N SnowMiko, aka JuJu! Thanks for being so great, Ju! I hope it turns out okay :-)**_

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I grumbled under my breath, shifting uncomfortably on my feet.

"Does anyone know what we're looking at?" Teresa had a robe on. Yeah. A _robe_. I don't mean the fuzzy bath type, I'm talking toga-material. The giant sleeves were slid slightly down her arms as she held them up to the wall in front of us, the gentle blue looking gray in the flickering of the fake fire behind us. No one answered.

I glanced at the rest of my group. We all had joined hands, Teresa moving behind us to begin. Tanya sniffled, her eyes red from her perpetual crying. The woman's like a sprinkler set on no particular schedule; waterworks at the drop of a hat. My temper boiled under my skin as I moved my eyes down the line. Tyler isn't here, and while that particular note has been obviously ignored, Danny stood on the other side of me. His giant hand held mine casually, which was confusing, because I thought he hated me. "Savannah," Teresa called like I was child. "You can't look at the prisoners. Focus on what's in front of you…"

I squeezed my eyes shut and counted to ten before opening them again, the shadows looming portentously on the wall. This entire exercise took the culty aftertaste of the group, and amplified it into full blown Kool-Aid. And it looks like every single member in the group has already drank the Kool-Aid, as they squinted up at the shadows dancing on the walls in convincing concentration.

I sighed again and looked back up at the wall.

"No? No one wants to say it?... Okay. Well, I'll go over the scenario one more time. I'd like you all to use those creative minds you have, and picture this room as a cave. You've all been imprisoned since your birth, held captive. There are restraints at your ankles, wrists, and neck. You can't look at each other; you can't look around the cave. "

My eyes widened as I looked up at the shadows, biting back a sexual joke. "This is taking a really dark turn…" I muttered, and Danny shifted beside me and hissed at me to be quiet. I snarled my nose up at him and rolled my eyes, letting go of his mammoth hand to brush my hair away from my face.

"Now, I know you all saw me move this couch between the fire and you, but pretend that you don't know that." She continued strangely. It's true. Before we started, she had me and Danny carry the giant couch behind us. Its back was to us. Teresa, I think, is crouched on the cushions by now. The shadow of the couch was all we could see as she spoke, until suddenly, something popped above the back of the couch. Like a puppet master hiding behind a curtain, she danced something across the top of the couch. It looked oddly like an action figure. "You can't see anything behind you. All you can see is the shadow of the man moving across the hill in front of you. Watch, as he walks." The action figure bobbed as she plopped it along the back of the couch.

"This is getting _really_ weird." I whispered to Danny. He ignored me and stared up at the wall.

She began to speak in a deep voice, actually trying to make it look like the shadow dancing across the wall in front of us was speaking. "Listen, as his voice echoes off the walls of the cave. But it looks like the shadow is speaking to you. You've never seen an actual person. You've never seen what it looks like when someone speaks. You don't know any better, so the shadow seems like a real person living out his life in front of you." I scrunched my face and tilted my head. What the hell? She dropped the deep voice, turning to a sincere one. Comforting. "Much like we carry our grief around with us every day, these men carry things to and fro, day after day, and much like the prisoner inside of you waiting to come out… these prisoners watch the man carrying what they perceive to be the truth back and forth every day. All they need to do is turn around, to see that it's all in their minds. Tanya. Is this reality?"

The woman sniffled and glanced away from the wall to nervously look around the room. "Um…" She started, looking back up at the wall. "….I can't tell." She whispered, and I reared back in alarm. "I can't tell what's real, I can't tell, I can't—" She broke off into sobs, letting go of the hands she held to cover her face as she sank to the ground.

I threw Danny's hand down and turned around in exasperation. "Okay," I exclaimed. "What the hell is this supposed to be!? We're all prisoners to our depression, to our guilt? We've lost touch with reality? What does that have to do with prisoners in a cave, staring at a—Ohhhh…." I turned back around to the wall, now casting Teresa's silhouette because she's popped up from the couch to look at me. I closed my eyes and let out a quiet snicker. "Oh. I get it now. You're supposed to be Plato," I pointed to her ridiculous robe, and Teresa scrambled to stand from the couch.

"Yes! Exactly, Savannah! Wonderful, oh group, Savannah is having an epiphany—"

"Hold up," I put my hands out and smiled tentatively at Teresa with a cautious sarcasm flowing into my voice. "You do know that this is not what Plato meant at all, right? He—he meant this as a way to explain that we're all mindless servants. Did you even finish the story?"

Teresa's proud smile fell and she gripped the action figure tightly in her fingers. "It's a metaphor, Savannah."

"I think we can all pick that up. Or, most of us, at least." I gestured behind me to a hysterical Tanya. "You seem to have a really skewed interpretation of this, so let me clarify for you… if you had finished the story, you'd know that one of those _prisoners_ escaped from his chains. He _did_ turn around. He saw the fire, and he was so scared that he fled the cave. When he got outside and saw what the world really was, he felt overwhelmed. Overjoyed that he was free. And then, he felt guilty for leaving the others behind, so he ran back to tell them the good news. Do you know what happened?"

Teresa opened her mouth to reply, but I barreled over her.

"No, I guess you wouldn't, since you didn't bother to read the rest of the story." I took a meaningful step toward Teresa. "They didn't believe him. They tried to kill him. They worshipped those shadows like they were gods, made games of guessing what they would carry past next… And here comes the one who fled, who betrayed them, and he's telling them their god isn't real? It's an allegory for people who go through life with blinders on, and how they fight the truth, because they think they've already got all the answers, and they believe only what they see and hear for themselves. God, Teresa, you're really intent on feeding these poor people shit, aren't you?"

Teresa licked her lips and set her action figure down on the couch. "Okay." She said, her voice tight. Her arms hung pathetically at her sides, the robe falling hanging past her fingers. "I think we're done for the night. For those of you who care to try and work through your conflicts, I want you to try a change of perspective. Turn away from the shadows of your past. Sometimes, shadows can trick you. They're not as daunting as they seem, when you finally see what's casting them."

And with that, I felt at a loss for words. I looked down at my feet and mulled the session over. The others filed past, each sending me looks of derision and disgust. I bit my lip and turned away to grab my jacket from the coat rack by the door. I watched Teresa's dejected face as she struggled to drag the couch back to the other side of the room. Before I could so much as move, Danny approached her and took over.

I sighed and let the door swing shut behind me, stepping into the cool night air. The weather had cooled since all the rain had died down, and lately the temperature was dropping enough for a chill to tickle my arms.

"Savannah," Danny said as he pushed through the door behind me.

"Oh hell no," I growled. "We've done this before. I don't feel like getting my ass chewed—"

"Why are you so mean to her?" He asked, disregarding everything I just said. I closed my mouth and huffed at him, looking at his exasperation. At his innocent contempt he held for me, and I had to wonder why he was even here again.

"I don't know, Danny." I finally said. He simply stared at me. "I'm jaded and cynical, and when someone's only purpose is to try and pry into my head, sarcasm and bitterness is my best defense? I guess I'm just not _cut out_ for group therapy."

"That's the smartest thing I've heard you say all night," He shot a finger at me and I ran my tongue across my teeth, backing away from him with my coat still clutched in my hands. "You should get your own counselor. If you hate the exercises so much, don't come back!" He threw his hands up in frustration. "It's pretty easy!"

"Okay, Danny." I struggled to mask the hurt in my voice. "I fuck everything up. I've got problems. Message received… You don't have to remind me."

And on that note, I turned around to hurry down the sidewalk. I felt his eyes following me, but I never turned back as I fled around the corner, not slowing my frantic pace until I could no longer feel the building looming behind me. Finally, when I emerged on the next block, I calmed my quick steps.

Pizza, I thought to myself. Focus on pizza. Focus on getting back to the warehouse. The moon was a thin sliver in the sky, tucked into the sky by wispy clouds. I cracked my neck and shook out my jacket as I made my way down the sidewalk.

Something fell from the pocket. I froze and bent down to pick up whatever it was. Because I was still, because I stopped thumping my boots heavily on the sidewalk and grumbling to myself, I heard it.

Somewhere in front of me, in the not so distant alley. Something was waiting for me. It smelled… peculiar. I couldn't place a name for it, but I could liken it to moss and damp mud. Something more—burning. It was sweet and potent, noxious, kind of like the jellied topical anesthetic dentists use. I tilted my head and all the hairs on my body prickled. My instincts screamed at me to turn, to _run_ back! I leapt up from the sidewalk, left the object on the ground—forgotten, abandoned, whatever it had been, next to my red jacket.

I flew through the night. My heart thrummed frantically in my chest, I couldn't catch my breath as I raced down the street and away from—whatever that _thing_ was. My ears caught two noises. The first, something metal clicking. Quickened breaths. Grunts of exertion, fast footsteps pursuing me.

The second, a reptilian hiss. It trilled slightly, purring almost, but not in a content way. In a sinister way, and nails—or talons, perhaps—scraped against cement as whatever it was moved.

I let out a whimper of horror, cursing under my breath. The footsteps paused and I heard a rustle before I tore around the corner I had come from, sprinting back up the sidewalk. I turned around, but there was nothing behind me. Still, I could hear them. Smell their determination. Smell their gunpowder, the grease of their well-oiled weapons, and the sound of their jeans as their legs brushed against each other.

Teresa stepped out of the building. Everyone had already left; the parking lot was empty. I was moving so fast that I almost blew straight past her. But my mind flashed back to that creature, and I forced myself to skid to a stop. I froze on the sidewalk and held my breath. She was completely oblivious as she turned to lock the door behind her. The footsteps were gaining on me.

In a flip decision, I completely changed directions. I bounded up the steps to the building and Teresa gasped, and the sound of her heart racing intermingled with mine in my ears. I stumbled to a halt next to her, only barely winded, and ran a shaking hand through my hair as I choked out a strained greeting.

"S-Savannah?" Teresa's small eyes popped open in fright. She staggered back into the door and clutched the light blue fabric of the robe close to her chest. She had changed back into her street clothes before leaving. "What do you want?"

I noted the way her hand conspicuously inched toward her pocket. Starting with a deep breath, I flapped my hand in the air between us. "I—just… Uh, I wanted to apologize!"

Her hand froze. She narrowed her eyes at me, her large pony mouth pinching. "…I'm listening."

My dark brown eyes darted down the street. I could still smell the gunpowder and grease, but I was having trouble locating them. "Yeah, uh… I was wrong." She snorted and I bit back a nasty retort. "I mean, Plato's whole thing was philosophy, right? And what is philosophy if not an individual's perspective? _Obviously_ you finished the story! I mean," I broke into a forced laugh and she became curious in spite of herself, straightening to her full height slightly. Flattery gets you everywhere, they say. "You have a degree in…" I trailed off and looked away from where I was periodically scanning the street. "What do you have a degree in?"

"Oh, that doesn't even matter!" She gushed, suddenly stepping close to me. I clamped my mouth shut and she gripped my forearm, giving it a squeeze. "Consider it forgotten. How about, next week you come back with this new attitude, and we can really start working as a team! Okay?"

I hummed in feigned agreement and came up short when a man turned the corner. Freezing, I brushed Teresa's hand off my arm. Even from here, he reeked of gunpowder and malicious intent. I grasped her shoulders and began to push her gently down the stairs. "Let's get you to your car, it's really dark out. Dangerous. There could be predators." I rambled, and she stammered.

"Oh…" She pipped. "That's so nice of you! Do you need a ride somewhere—"

" _No,_ " I snapped as we came to the bottom of the steps. Teresa looked at me with a bewildered gaze, but I turned around and saw the man was getting closer now. He had a black leather coat on. His hand was tucked inside, and a head full of brown hair. "Ah," I squeaked nervously. "On second thought, let me walk you to your car."

She beamed at me. "You're so polite!" She gushed, and I felt my temper slipping as the man continued to pursue us. I gripped her shoulder tightly and practically dragged her to the car. "I'm so relieved that we can be civil, Savannah. It would've been bad if I had to tell the judge that you're not progressing at all. It's the last thing I wanted to do, you have to know that."

Momentarily forgetting the hostile man trailing us, I whipped around to gape at her. "You were going to tell the judge that I wasn't progressing?" She stared at me with wide eyes and nodded hesitantly.

"Well, I—"

"But I was showing up to the meetings!" I broke in.

"You've come to two." She argued, and I huffed angrily.

"Fine. Whatever. We're cool now, though, right? You won't tell Burnell any of that crap?"

"I guess we'll see." Teresa tried to dig her keys from her bag, but it was massive. I glanced back at the man. He had turned into the parking lot, and there was no doubt left. He was about to approach us. I shifted to put myself between him and Teresa as she rifled around in her tote. "It's important for you to realize that I'm here to help you, Savannah." She continued, completely ignorant of the man who was about five yards away and closing in. "I only want to help you. We don't have to be enemies. I think that's part of your problem, you act like everyone has a vendetta against you. Well, that's just not true. Not everyone wants to attack you—oh!" She broke off as the man strolled to a stop in front of us.

He smiled widely at us, and I bristled, stepping surreptitiously more between the woman behind me. And then he said something that nearly made me fall over, catching me one hundred percent off guard.

"Savannah," He smiled. "I was trying to catch you!"

"Oh," Teresa breathed behind us in relief, chuckling nervously. I felt my wide eyes flicker back to her, seeing as she clutched her chest and fluttered her eyes. "Thank God! You two know each other, I thought you were going to…" She laughed breathlessly and waved us off. "Never mind, it was silly."

I opened my mouth to deny it when he cut in. "Did you think I was going to attack you?" He laughed a little to hard, his eyes locking onto mine as Teresa giggled enthusiastically, her head bobbing.

"I mean, I saw you just _pop_ up!" Her hands fanned out dramatically and he joined in her laughing. I tried to cut in, but Teresa was on a roll. "Just, _bah!_ There you were."

"Oh, you don't have to worry. I know Savannah well." His eyes slid to mine and I felt ice run through my veins, my heart skipping a beat. "We met through a mutual friend, didn't we, Savannah?"

"A friend?" Teresa broke in, laying her hands on my shoulder. "You have friends!" She cooed, entirely too excited at this bit of news.

I scowled at her, in spite of my terror. "You don't have to sound so surprised," I snapped on instinct, drawing a laugh from the both of them.

"It's just that you're so… surly," She patted my arm and pinched it slightly. I felt the disbelief carving into my face, and the man chuckled darkly.

"It's a good thing her friend is Derek, then."

And that was it. I missed what he said after that, because I realized who he was. Stupidly, I had made myself vulnerable. And now, as I looked back at Teresa with a blank, numb expression, I realized that I had jeopardized an innocent bystander. I thought that by stopping for her I could save her… I thought I could get her out of harm's way, but she just kept _talking,_ and all I had accomplished was dragging her into it.

I blinked at them as they both stared at me expectantly. Realizing that I had been asked a question, I shook my head. "What?"

"I was wondering if you could pass a message along to Derek." The man said, pulling something from his coat. My jacket. Folded neatly into a small square, he passed it to my shaking hands and smiled dangerously at me. "Could you let him know that my father is in town? We've been trying to get a hold of him, but you know how he can be. So evasive… but he'll listen to you, I think. He can't run from us forever," He finished with a laugh, and Teresa—dumb Teresa, she laughed as if she knew Derek and this man's father. I didn't even try to reply. I just squeezed the red leather between my fingers and stared at him with a tight jaw. "I won't keep you girls any longer. I just wanted to return that. I know you've lost a lot lately, Savannah. The last thing you need is another thing slipping through your fingers."

Teresa pursed her lips sympathetically and nodded with her head tilted slightly, smiling at the two of us. Bile rose in my throat, as I wondered which thing he referred to. After all, I had lost a lot. The obvious thing would be my brother, but I also recently lost contact with Rex. Not to mention my parents. It could be any of those things, I realized, as he reached out to squeeze my shoulder tightly. He did it hard enough to send a jolt of pain through my arm, but to Teresa, it seemed affectionate. "You take care, Savannah. Watch your back, okay?"

I reached up a hand to lay it across his on my shoulder, making it seem like I was returning his gesture of warmth. But as I pried it from my shoulder, I squeezed it until I felt his bones pop. He struggled to keep a straight face and I smiled darkly at him. "Nice of you to stop by." I said through clenched teeth, still clamping onto his hand.

Teresa glanced between us, and he fought to snatch his hand from my grip. I gave it a final squeeze before dropping it, and he turned to leave.

Before he got far, he turned to wave at us. I crossed my arms as he pointed to me, walking backwards. "Oh. And make sure to let him know that if he doesn't find us soon, I know where to find you now. And I'll stop by, every week. Besides, this one here seems like a delightful girl!" He winked at her, causing a fresh round of giggles to erupt from the oblivious woman. "I could see myself getting very close to her."

"Nope," I quickly tried to kill that notion before it could blossom in either of their minds. "I think that's probably a conflict of interest, or something." I phrased it like it was meant to be an issue for Teresa, but he knew that I meant him as he smirked darkly at me and said nothing.

"Oh, not at all!" Teresa beamed. "You're too kind—um. I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

He looked back at me, dead in the eyes, as he said, "Chris. Chris Argent."

"It was great to meet a friend of Savannah's, Chris! My name is Teresa. Stop by whenever you want, okay? Don't be a stranger!" She waved at him cheerily, and he nodded at her.

"Okay, Teresa." Giving a final wave, he promised, "I won't be far."

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	13. Thinning Trust and Thickened Plots

"Mayday! Mayday!" I screeched, bursting through the warehouse door. Already I could hear three separate heartbeats as I stumbled down the steps, barely taking the time to watch where I stepped as I hurried. "Red alert! This is not a drill, I repeat—"

Derek stood above Isaac and Erica where they were apparently gathered for some sort of… well, I couldn't exactly tell what. He seemed to be giving them a lecture or something. When I came tearing through the door, he turned with an expression that was equal parts annoyance and a dreaded kind of shock.

I barely screeched to a halt, my arms wind milling erratically. I clutched at a stitch in my ide and gulped in deep breaths. The two on the ground stared at me with wide eyes, while Derek strode forward to stand in front of me. "We need some code words, ya know?" I gasped, bent at my knees.

"What happened?" Derek demanded. He was thoroughly unamused as I continued.

"All the best teams have them. Sports, secret services, any aircrafts, _every_ child using a walkie-talkie."

"Savannah." He put his hands on my shoulder, his voice short and clipped as he hauled me up by my armpits like I was some kind of unruly kitten. His green eyes locked onto mine and he raised his eyebrows, his expression screaming at me to be serious before he had to hurt me. "What happened?"

I squirmed, pushing against his arms. "You filled in the newbie on the hunters? Because she's about to get a crash course."

Derek shifted so that he was squeezing my shoulders instead of propping me up, getting in my face slightly. My nose was filled with Cedar wood and my heart kicked up a bit as I acclimated to the gravity of the situation. "What happened?" He repeated, as Isaac and Erica rose to their feet. The entire warehouse's air thickened with tension as I swallowed.

"They found me." My voice had been stripped of all mirth as I thought back to the man who threatened me. "The hunters. Or, one of them did, at least." Derek's eyes immediately began to scan my body, as he stepped back to inspect me for any obvious signs of injury.

"How did you get away?" He asked, poking at my ribs and joints to test for any tenderness. All he succeeded in was tickling me, and I batted at his prodding hands as an unsolicited snicker escaped my lips when he jabbed my side. "Did they follow you?"

"Stop that!" I snapped. "Why didn't you tell me the Argents were the hunters?" I demanded, letting betrayal and accusation color my face with an angry flush. "That's pretty pertinent information!"

Derek's hard mask of stoicism didn't budge under my reproach, sending my temper up into a flare of dangerous heights. "I hadn't gotten around to it."

"Well get around to it now!" I barked, and ignored Isaac's face of surprise as our argument escalated.

"I've been dealing with crisis after crisis with you, Carmichael!" Derek growled. "I've been meaning to get around to it, but you haven't left me with a whole lot of time to explain things. And I will." I scoffed in frustration and stepped away to tangle my hands in my hair. "But first, you need to tell me _everything_ that happened!" Swiping angrily at my nose, I sighed and turned away to pace with my arms crossed.

"Chris Argent tracked me as I left the Group. I think he had set up a trap for me, but I was able to catch on before I walked into it. I ran back down the street, and the only reason he didn't hurt me was probably because Teresa was standing right there."

Derek stiffened. "Who's Teresa?"

My eyes flickered over to Erica as I shifted uncomfortably before continuing. "My dimwitted, oblivious therapist. Who became pretty chummy with Argent just before he left, and he actually threatened to keep stopping by unless I told you that he and his dad are looking for you."

Derek brought a hand up to his mouth and ran his thumb over his bottom lip absentmindedly as he paced in front of me. "I knew that already. Scott and I saw him. He's gone off the deep end." He turned to the other two in the room and sighed.

"When were you and Scott together!?" I exclaimed, throwing my arms up. My mind flashed back to the day on the field, when Stiles and Scott warned me that Derek isn't who I thought. When they insinuated I couldn't trust him. At the time, I totally disregarded it and didn't even give it a second thought. But now… With all of this stuff, this _significant_ information that's coming to light? It was becoming more and more difficult for me to ignore. I might be grateful to Derek for all he's done for me, but that doesn't mean I'm about to step over the edge with a blindfold on for him. That's never who I've been, and he's not exactly given me the trust I need to put blind faith in him.

"Alright." He continued as if I hadn't spoken. I bristled in anger and clenched my teeth. "If they're bold enough to track one of you down instead of coming straight to me, then they're trying to send me a message. They know who you are. I thought I could protect you all for at least a little bit, but their move tonight lets me know that I can't wait around anymore. These guys _will_ kill you." His eyes flitted around, pausing on each of us before he continued. "They're highly skilled, highly organized, they have connections, and they have the money and the means to accomplish what they want. They used to have a code that their family followed for generations."

He turned his back to us as he continued, pacing along the warehouse floor restlessly. "Their code made sure that they wouldn't just blindly massacre us. It meant that as long as we didn't hurt anyone, we wouldn't have any problems." He turned back to us. "But the Argents have always had issues following their own rules. They've officially abandoned the code, which means that _I_ need to prepare you for whatever they might throw our way. We need as many of us to watch our backs as we can, which means I want to find one more to join us."

I pursed my lips and considered voicing my thoughts, but from the way things had been going, it might be a waste of time. He said the Argents spent generations following some code. Now, suddenly, they've abandoned the code? Why? What would cause them to ditch what sounds like some sort of honor code?

Derek continued to talk to us, but he was babbling about training and about physically preparing ourselves for the Argents. For the first time, I kept my thoughts to myself. I don't know if I'll ask him. I don't know if I'll wait until we're alone so that I have a greater chance of getting the whole truth—as ugly as it might be—or if I'll find the answer through other means.

I knew more than one person that had the story. Just by the way Scott and Stiles had reacted upon finding out that I didn't know when Scott was turned told me they knew a _lot_ of stuff I didn't, and I hadn't forgotten seeing Derek around school a lot last year.

Things are adding up. Slowly, with the new life I had been given, I was fumbling along and trying to find who I could trust. It's the first time that it's occurred to me that maybe Derek isn't one of those people.

He started to move onto a new subject, but I caught his attention. "There's something else." I said. "The only reason I caught the Argents' trap before I walked into it… something was tracking me. I could smell it, it was… I've never smelled anything like it before, Derek." My eyes flitted to Isaac and Erica, the latter of which had yet to speak a word. I eyed her before continuing. "I think that maybe the Argents aren't the only ones hunting. Whatever killed Isaac's dad is still out there. I think it was tracking me tonight."

Derek looked back at Isaac and I cleared my throat, rubbing my neck. "Okay." He finally sighed. "So now we have to watch our backs twice as much."

* * *

The next afternoon, I entered school halfway through the day. It was just before lunch. My morning had been filled with a grueling session of _training_ from Derek, consisting of an obstacle course he had set up for me to run. I ran through it a few times to warm up, but then he told me to run through it and try and take him down. It took me a grand total of twenty six times before I was able to catch him off guard. Turns out, laying face down on the dirty cement in exhaustion wasn't exactly an effective method of attack. But, as I childishly reminded him, it did catch him off guard. I think honestly, I had just proved to annoy him too much to continue with training me.

So, here I am, on my way to the cafeteria. I steeled myself for facing my classmates—but luckily, I wasn't going to be alone. Erica's supposed to be running somewhere around here, and I have to admit that I'm relieved to not have to face the school day by myself.

There was no grand reaction when I walked through the doors. It wasn't like how in the movies, when the bad guy walks into the room, the camera immediately flies to him and all the innocent bystanders scatter to flee his proximity. Her proximity. _My_ proximity. In fact, no one really paid attention to me.

I was stuck between feeling relieved and confused, when my nose was struck with the heavy scent of cherries and perfume.

I turned on my heel and blinked at Allison. She had a basket of fries in her hand. I blinked up at her suspiciously and she offered me a cautiously friendly smile, her dimples making an appearance as she held the greasy, deep fried treat to me. Completely ignoring the food, I stared up at her and waited for an explanation, my face a perfect picture of skepticism, I'm sure.

The corner of her smile twitched. She put her shoulders back and let out a determined breath. "I want to apologize on behalf of Stiles." She declared, causing my eyebrows to rocket up.

"Oh?" I smirked, dropping my gaze to the red basket. "And you think that a thinly veiled bribe of food is going to help you accomplish that? One kind gesture of greasy goodness, and bippity boppity boop—all is forgiven? Do I really seem so shallow to you?" My eyes had narrowed into slits and I jabbed an angry finger down at the beautiful red basket of joy in her palm.

She faltered before steeling her resolve. "Yes." She kept a straight face and her friendly smile barely twitched under the weight of my stare.

It continued for a few more seconds, as I listened to her steady, honest heartbeat. I snatched the basket from her hand, "Yeah, you pegged me pretty well." I smirked.

She breathed out a relieved laugh and rocked on her heels. "I was also wondering if you wanted to come sit with me?"

I chewed thoughtfully on a fry and looked back at the empty table she gestured to, looking between it and her.

"Why?" I finally asked.

"Because I'm still trying to make it up to you. You didn't try to hurt Erica; you saved her from falling. Scott and I both talked to Stiles. He won't accuse you of something like that again… it was wrong, and I think he knows that now."

Grabbing a small handful of fries, I began to gnaw at them and sighed thoughtfully. My stomach prickled slightly and I looked up to see Scott and Stiles blatantly gawking at us, and began to quickly run through the reasoning in my head.

In spite of my thinning trust for the man, I had to wonder. What would Derek say? Would he advise me to join the suddenly friendly girl standing before me, to join her for lunch and domestically chat about… awkward things? Would he want me to make that connection to her?

I looked back at her as I mulled my thoughts over. She's Scott's girlfriend, true. But she's also related to Chris Argent. In fact, something tells me that she's probably even his daughter. Their faces held similar expressions, and they both had brown hair.

So: would Derek approve of me getting close to Scott's girlfriend, and to Chris Argent's daughter?

Without further ado, I led the way to her table and wordlessly pulled a chair out, plopping down in it without ceremony. I continued munching at the peace offering as she recovered from her surprise. Apparently I had caught her off guard, as she struggled to roll with the punches and delicately seated herself across from me.

She settled into her tray and picked up a yogurt container. Peeling back the foil lid, the silence grew awkwardly between us as she cleared her throat and tried to ignore my stare.

I smirked and continued eating the fries.

"Do you know how Erica's doing?" She asked, dipping a spoon into the fruity yogurt.

"Pretty well, I presume. You're more likely to know than I am. She's here today."

"No she's not." Allison frowned and set her yogurt down on the tray. "She's in my English class. Or, she's supposed to be, but she wasn't there this morning."

"Hmm." I hummed disinterestedly. Apparently, we need to keep better tabs on the newbies. They seem to be getting a little… rambunctious. Wouldn't want them drawing attention to themselves. "Then I don't know." She opened her mouth to elaborate on that point, but I barreled over her. "Your father has a knack for skirting just around the issue. You inherited that from him, I think."

Her fingers tightened on the spoon in her hand, the plastic of the yogurt container bending slightly in her grip. "…You know my dad?" She managed, and I smiled slowly at her.

"Oh, yes. We had an… enlightening conversation last night. He's so formidable." I said with an ironic smile, my voice dripping with cheeriness. As if I was making polite conversation, and her dad wasn't someone who wanted both me and my pack members dead.

Her eyes watched me carefully, and I popped another fry into my mouth and winked at her. "He can be daunting, yes." She slid her tray away, weaving her fingers together awkwardly.

"Whoa." I patronizingly pouted at her. "Did someone lose her appetite? Is your yogurt settling a little too heavy in your tummy?"

She frowned at me, and I stared back at her. Finally, she sighed through her nose and shifted in her seat so that she sat closer to me. "Look. I get that you don't trust me. I can understand that, I've never gone out of my way for you, and vice versa. My family is quick to judge. We're notorious for that kind of thing, but I'm trying to pave my own path here. Okay? So, yes, I know that there are bad… kinds out there. I know that there are some who need to be stopped, because _they_ are the kind who will stop at nothing to gain power, and they'll destroy anything in their path to do it. I know that because one of them killed my aunt a few weeks ago."

I was unable to keep the surprise off my face, and immediately my heart was flooded with guilt and my mind sent off alarms, and a million red flags flew up. A few weeks ago? Could this be one thing that Scott and Stiles knew? Another thing Derek has chosen to hide from me?... I watched her, with her jaw tight and her face determined as she went on. And I knew that my suspicions were correct.

"But unlike my family, I also know there are good ones out there. And while I can't say which category Derek falls under, I know that Scott is the kind who is _good_. He's clean, and he would never hurt anyone. He protects his friends and he goes out of his way to make sure they're safe."

I drew in a deep breath and glanced up to see Scott smiling weakly, pretending not to listen but failing miserably. I turned my eyes back to her and shifted in my seat.

"I'm still waiting to see which category you fall under. But I want you to know that it doesn't have to be Derek's way or the highway…" She paused and locked eyes with me. "I've chosen my own way with my family. I might've been born into their legacy, but that doesn't mean I have to follow blindly in their footsteps. And neither do you. You're not alone, Savannah. Maybe you have been for a really long time, or maybe it's just felt that way. But now, you're apart of something. And you don't have to be alone anymore."

I swallowed and ran a hand through my hair, opening my mouth to reply, when our classmates all froze around us.

Allison and I followed their gaze, and I groaned in disgust and exasperation when I saw her.

Erica Reyes, her legs bare and feet propped on six inch, cheetah print stilettos. She had a sad excuse for a black leather mini skirt stretched around her waist, barely thicker than a head band, and a black leather jacket. I scoffed at that particular addition to her outfit, because _really_? She had to go with a leather jacket? That's my thing.

Her face was fully made up: smoky eyeshadow, smudged eyeliner, contoured face, bright red lips—the works. Gone was the frizz of yesterday, and in its place were sleek blonde curls.

I rolled my eyes and jabbed a finger in her direction, looking at Allison. "I had nothing to do with that." I quickly informed her, and her face was a mirror of my own. Her lip curled subtly in distaste, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Is she…" Allison gaped at the blonde bimbo, and I watched as she strutted over to some underclassman and stole his apple. She leaned down in his faces and bit delicately into the red glossy fruit, her eyes never leaving the poor kid's. He basically fell over, and my senses were overwhelmed with pheromones and racing teenage hearts. I could practically hear their small organs screaming with joy as she winked at the entire cafeteria, pausing to glance at me, looked purposefully at Scott and Stiles, and then turned to stride back out of the cafeteria. "Should you?..." Allison started, hooking her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of where Erica had just promenaded out of the cafeteria.

I sighed heavily and puffed my lips out. "Probably…" I stood from the table and threw a quick wave at Allison before marching casually to the exit of the cafeteria.

Pattering footsteps were my only warning as Scott and Stiles came barreling towards me, nearly knocking me down in their haste to chase Erica. I trailed behind them at a more leisurely stroll, and used my ears to track what I couldn't see. I listened as Erica's heels led her through the halls toward the exit doors.

I was about twenty feet behind the boys as they burst through the exit to gawk at …

And I smelled it. Cedar wood and clean leather, carrying an undulating wave of smoke. My heart sank to my toes, and I carefully masked my confusion as I stepped out to watch as Derek smirked cockily at the boys from his seat behind his ridiculous sunglasses, Erica situated carefully in his passenger seat so she could lean around him to smirk at all of us.

And in spite of it all, in spite of my waning reliance on him, in spite of my pride for Erica having finally mustered some confidence… I couldn't deny the swell of betrayal and the fact that I felt utterly left out as he let the tires squeal and he tore away in his shining black Camaro. It occurred to me then, that I might not have been able to see eyes to visually confirm it, but the likelihood that Derek had missed me standing behind the boys was miniscule. I could smell him while I was still in the school. He knew I was there. And he left me anyways.

I don't know why. I don't know if he can sense that I'm beginning to doubt him, I don't know if he was all about the theatrics, and felt that simply having Erica alone in the seat next to him was too dramatic to pass up, or if he was punishing me for some unknown reason… I couldn't explain his motivations. All I could do is stand there and watch.

Suddenly, I realized that Stiles and Scott had turned around and were now staring at me. I scrambled to carefully rearrange my face and masked it with my default setting: dripping sarcasm.

"Is it just me, or does she seem different?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and Scott watched me intently as his friend replied. "Please, spare us. We know that you were in on it. You probably even suggested her."

I turned away from Scott to lock eyes with Stiles. "Actually, you've got one thing right. I did suggest her. I thought that she could be a good addition, but now…" My eyes flickered back to where Derek had peeled away of their own accord. "She's too cocky. I don't like it… Maybe I should learn to keep my mouth shut."

"Allison was right, you know." Scott spoke up, watching me with those earnest brown eyes. I pushed the metaphorical vomit that rose in my throat down, unaccustomed to his brash eager-to-please attitude, and ultimately clueless with how to handle it anymore. "You don't have to put up with Derek's crap. I know that you've picked up some of the stuff he's been keeping from you by now, and you know they're not small details that can just slip through the cracks. Because not knowing leaves you vulnerable to people like Chris Argent."

His words sunk in, even in the face of my mind that was screaming at me to tell him off. I couldn't get the image of Derek's proud, smug, arrogant grin he bore at Scott and Stiles out of my mind. Neither could I stop Derek's own confession from flooding my thoughts, when he told me that he wanted a pack to become more powerful. At the time I thought he meant he needed a pack to protect himself from hunters, and that he was seeking out a family. But after what just happened… I'm supposed to be a part of that family. I thought I was even the most important one, foolishly, I had assumed that since I was the first, that it meant something to Derek. Like it meant something to me.

I focused back on Scott, who was watching me knowingly, and at Stiles, who had an expression suggesting maybe I caught him off guard with my hesitation. It also told me that I had let my thoughts trickle onto my face a little too much, if Stiles' softened expression is anything to go by.

I backed a step away from them toward the door. "I'm late for Chemistry." I muttered, and turned to stride back into the school and flee the prying eyes behind me.

* * *

I passed a few hours at Mario's, munching on Hawaiian pizza and talking to my old friend for as long as I felt I could get away with. It helped to bring be back down to earth; grounding me to something real, at least for a little bit. Not all pieces of my past are lost, anyways. Mario's is still there for me, as it has always been, and always will be. The man himself even made a point to say so during our heartfelt discussion about Rex.

The sun was moving lower and lower in the sky. It wasn't exactly dark out, but it wasn't early evening, either. I shook my hands out nervously and prayed that I hadn't forgotten the address. It had been months; years even, since he had given it to me.

He told me that I should come to him if I changed my mind about anything. Well, after what happened last night, I had changed my mind. And as I paced outside his house and tried to talk myself into just _doing_ it, just _going_ already, I almost lost the nerve.

But then I flashed back to last night, and I growled to myself as I strode up his walk.

"That's it." I finally grunted. "I'm going."

I turned and stomped up to his porch, my knuckles reaching up to rap against the door when—

"when I'll be back, dad, I'll just call—" He let out a short scream of surprise and stumbled back into he house, throwing his arm up in front of his face defensively. "Eughhh!" He exclaimed, backing up to point accusingly at me. "Whatareyoudoinghere,"

"Ohh, shit," I muttered under my breath as I stepped away to curse my stupidity.

"This is my house!" He hysterically continued, suddenly leaning around me to peek in the bushes outside his house and scan the streets. "What are you doing at my house?"

"Um…" I awkwardly grappled for what to say. "Heyy, Stiles… Is… is your dad home?"

* * *

 _ **I picture Savannah like Lola Leon. Who do you guys see?!**_

 _ **Review and let me know! :)**_


	14. I Swear I Spilled My Drink

_**I seriously have the best readers XD Your guys' reviews always make me laugh!**_

* * *

I'm taking over my body, back in control, no more shotty,

I bet a lot of me was lost, T's uncrossed and I's undotted,

I fought it a lot and it seems a lot like flesh is all I got,

Not anymore, flesh out the door, swat,

I must've forgot, you can't trust me,

I'm open a moment and closed when you show it,

Before you know it, I'm lost at sea,

And now that I write and think about it,

And the story unfolds,

You should take my life, you should take my soul.

You are surrounding all my surroundings,

Sounding down the mountain range of my left-side brain,

You are surrounding all my surroundings,

Twisting the kaleidoscope behind both of my eyes.

- _Holding Onto You, by Twenty One Pilots_

* * *

His face flickered through an array of emotions. First confusion, then realization, then hesitation, then exasperation, a brief moment of suspicion, and finally, it settled on… defeat. Bringing his hand up to the doorframe, he leaned against it as he sagged in surrender with a sigh. "Yeah." Stiles pointed at me. "Gimme a minute."

I pressed my lips together and turned to the side, rubbing anxiously at my nose. Stiles disappeared into his house and left me waiting. I listened as he hurriedly stomped through the floors of his home, his keys jangling slightly in his hand. I was overwhelmed with a wave of his home's scent. Coffee and wood, men's shoe polish and gunpowder, a lingering trace of pizza, sweet yet savory… Hawaiian.

I turned to peer curiously into the doorway, struck with the realization that Stiles and his dad enjoyed the same kind of pizza I did. Rare is it that I consider the domestic habits of my peers. It only serves as a painful kind of torture, cruel and unnecessary, as it reminds me of what's lost to me. But I couldn't strike the image of Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski gathering around a Mario's pizza box and serving themselves.

What would that even look like? I'm finding it difficult to imagine an expression of anything but frustration or sympathy on Sheriff's face, and nearly impossible to imagine anything but fear or contempt on Stiles'.

Before I could linger on it anymore, Sheriff appeared in the doorway. Stiles lingered behind him nosily as Sheriff stepped slightly onto the porch. He was dressed casually in a light blue plaid button up that hung over a dark green t-shirt, both of which brought out his eyes, which I noticed were blue for the first time, and jeans. It threw me off to see him in anything but a uniform. It felt like seeing I was waiting in the doctor's office for my test results to come back, when the door finally opens. But instead of a doctor, here comes Bozo the Clown clomping in his comically big red shoes.

"Savannah?" His voice sung with concern and he seemed ready for anything. It was like he anticipated me to be battered and broken, expecting the worst. His hasty paternal concern knocked me off my feet, unsolicited but not unwelcome, and I coughed the shock out of my throat. "What are you doing here?"

"I—" My eyes flickered onto Stiles', who seemed taken aback at just how familiar our interaction is. "You said that if I changed my mind about anything I should come to you. Well…" I put my hands out and let them slap against my thighs, a light breeze from outside tousling the back of my black hair.

"Oh," His face twisted slightly as he tried to conjure up that conversation. "Did something happen?"

"Can I come in?" I shoved my hands into my pockets of my red jacket and Sheriff stepped hastily back.

"Oh, yeah! Of—" He hurriedly insisted, but he ran straight into Stiles, who let out a grunt of pain and hopped back to grip his toe. Sheriff threw him an acidic glare and seemed to just barely keep his exasperation in check. Letting out a short sigh, he watched as Stiles took the hint and retreated farther into the house to give me more room. "Of course, come in." He held his arm out to me and I locked eyes with Stiles for a split second, until it became too uncomfortable for me to maintain. I looked at my boots as I entered the house and the front door shut behind me.

I was overwhelmed with the scent now. Boot polish, wood, Hawaiian pizza, laundry detergent, ivory soap… A slightly awkward silence stretched over us as Sheriff and I stared at Stiles. His light brown eyes flashed between his father and me, waiting for one of us to do something. As more time passed, he realized that he was actually some sort of really fucked up third wheel in this equation, and Sheriff cleared his throat. "I thought you were going on a date?"

Of all the things I expected him to say, you have to believe me when I tell you that _that_ is the very _last_ thing. My breath caught in my throat with the effort it took for me not to react, and I rolled my lips into my mouth to keep my laughs trapped inside. Apparently, my eyes were a tell-all, as Stiles' eyes widened and a cute red blush blanketed over his face.

He stiffened in mortification and stuttered, his hand waving as if he could physically erase what his father had just said. "I-It's not a date, I mean, I wish it was, don't get me wrong, but this is _Lydia_ we're talking about. I know she would never date me right now, but I think that's because we haven't had one-on-one time before really, so that's why I invited Scott and Allison along, because she'll be more comfortable if it doesn't _seem_ like a date." He paused in his rant that took a single breath to get out and gulped in some air before continuing. "I guess maybe it is a date, do you think she thinks it's a date?" He froze and looked down at his clothes and clutched his shirt at his chest, and it registered to me that he dressed like his father in a plaid shirt unbuttoned over a t-shirt. But Stiles' was more muted, and his t-shirt was coal grey. He looked up at us with bulging eyes. "Is this okay for a date?!"

I let a smile play at my lips, but kept silent as his father's eyes crinkled from his twisted up incredulity displayed on his handsomely aged face. "It's fine," He said, though he seemed like he wanted to say something else. "You look fine."

I wanted to interject _so_ badly, but now was sooo not the time… I used every ounce of self-control in my tiny body to keep my trap shut, and settled for smirking widely at Stiles.

"Let's go to the dining room." Sheriff shook his head and walked toward where the room must've been located, and I watched Stiles watching us for a few more beats, lagging behind him. "Don't forget to call me so I know you get home alright!" He called to his son, who broke eye contact with me to look at his dad's disappearing back. "And relax! She's gonna love you."

Stiles' eyes flickered back to me as he seemed caught between leaving, and staying to monitor me with his father. In his home. I looked down at my boots for a moment, finally unable to keep my silence as I turned to follow his father. "For the record," I let a crooked smile tug at the corner of my lips as I walked backwards and locked gazes with Stiles. "I've always been a fan of the way you dress." His heart rate spiked, blood coloring his cheeks, and his eyes widened in apparent embarrassment. My mouth stretched to a full-blown grin. "And I think it's cute that you dress like your dad!"

His jaw dropped and his head snapped down to look at his clothes, patting his shirt pathetically. He sputtered, grasping for the words, but only managed a high-pitched, strangled whine that contained a _lot_ of conflicted emotions. I snickered and turned my back on him to follow his dad.

The dining room table was wooden and I placed that as part of the source of the house's scent as I finally joined Sheriff. "You can take a seat any where. Did you want something to drink? Or are you hungry, we had pizza earlier. There might be some left if—"

"I'm fine," I waved him off quickly. The idea of eating their pizza seemed _entirely_ too intrusive, and way too soon. "This probably won't take long, so…"

"Okay," He said, but in that tone that adults use when they _say_ okay, but they're actually saying we'll see how it goes. I bit back a sigh and grudgingly placed my hand on the back of the wooden chair, pulling it out from under the table. "How have you been, Savannah?" It was his standard question that Sheriff always asked upon talking to me.

"Oh," I sighed. "You know." My mind flitted over all that's changed, and in a greater sense I suppose I've been doing pretty great, all considered. But my mind flashed to last night, reminding me why I sat as his table. "I'm actually here to talk to you about my therapy."

He raised his eyebrows, partly at the fact that I didn't really answer his question, and partly at me cutting to the chase so abruptly. From his perspective, it's probably a pretty stark contrast to my usual MO. I've got a history of seldom being straightforward with the Sheriff, but this is different… not that he knew that. "You've been going, right?"

"Yeah, I just…" I rubbed at my nose and my ears caught the sound of Stiles' frantic intonation. I stretched my hearing and locked onto him, a few rooms away—presumably still in the living room.

" _I know that, Scott! You think I don't know how awful her timing is!? I can't just—_ leave _her here with my dad! She's in my_ house _! My house!"_ There was a pause, and I licked my teeth. I thought he had left.

I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat. "It's not working out, okay?" An image of Chris Argent smiling calculatingly at Teresa flitted through my mind, and I balled my hand into a fist and let it thud against the table to echo my point. "I think we need to—change something."

"Well, okay… slow down." Sheriff put his hand up in a calming gesture. "Why don't you tell me what happened before we decide anything?"

"Yes!" Stiles voice suddenly wafted in from the living room, and it was loud enough that I almost didn't need supernatural hearing to catch it. But apparently, Sheriff's hearing ain't what it used to be, as he waited expectantly for an answer. " _Just stall them, alright! I'm coming. I'll be there! I just need to make sure she doesn't… I know, I know. She's not dangerous… so you say, but this is my dad, and I'm not leaving him. I don't care how different she is. Stall them, Scott! I'll be there."_

I ran a hand through my hair and shrugged a shoulder, letting my hand fall flat onto the table. "It's just not working out, okay? I'm not— _cut out_ for…" As much as I had hoped to keep the fact that I'm getting therapy out of Stiles and Scott's minds, it seemed there was no way to avoid it. Stiles had situated himself just outside the dining room; the prime position for eavesdropping. My jaw clenched. "Group therapy." I finished grudgingly. I heard Stiles suck in a surprised breath, could practically _see_ his frown as this new revelation soaked in. I shook my head and looked down to spin the saltshaker from the table between my fingers. "It's no secret that I don't play well with others. Group therapy was a mistake, we should've seen this coming."

"Savannah," Sheriff frowned. "That's just not true. I know that ever since… Ever since your parents passed, and your brother went missing… You've had difficulty letting people in. The entire reason Judge Burnell and I decided group therapy would be best is to expose you to kids your own age, and other people who also have issues. It's the only way we made sure you were interacting with people who didn't live on the streets or deal out of the back of their van."

My anxiety kicked up as I heard Stiles breathing outside the room. This has to be like, fifty different kinds of privacy violations. I licked my lips and bit my bottom one, looking away from the saltshaker to glare at where I knew Stiles to be listening in. "Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. I'm staying with a friend. I haven't been on the streets in… I haven't _slept_ on the streets in like, over a week. Okay? I'm golden. Clean, squeaky." I brushed my fingers down my red jacket and shook my hands out to illustrate. "No more of that dirty shit."

Sheriff's eyebrows shot up and his mouth straightened from its familiar frown, which coming from him—is almost a smile. "That's great, Savannah! That's great news! I mean, it's not your foster home, but it's an improvement…" He shook his head and his frown returned. "You can't stop going to therapy. It's Group, or juvy. We've been over this."

"Okay, I know that," I poked the table with determination; leaning forward to show him how serious I was about this. "I get that I won't be getting out of this whole therapy thing, okay? I just wanted to… Not _group_ therapy."

Sheriff sat back and crossed his arms, peering at me from the corner of his eye. A silence stretched between us as he considered me, the quiet filled the sound of their ceiling fan gently turning in their living room, Stiles' breathing and slightly escalated heart rate, and Sheriff's steady heartbeat. "You're asking if you can start therapy… with a personal therapist?"

I sat back and put my hands in my hair, letting out a relieved sigh. "Yes," I breathed. "Yes."

Sheriff sighed through his nose and mulled my request over. I cleared my throat and shifted restlessly, desperate for him to say yes. If I can get away from the group therapy sessions, the Argents won't have a way to find me so easily anymore. I want to make things as difficult as I can for them; they might be hunting us, but that doesn't mean I'm about to willingly step back into their trap… or worse, put a whole group of innocent people at risk.

Sheriff cleared his throat. "If this happens, I want you to report to me once every two weeks."

I let my head fall back as my body was freed from anxiety, and smiled gently. "Yeah, absolutely. You got it. Every fourteen days,"

"And it's going to be Ms. Morrell." He pointed at my face and I raised my eyebrows. "That's not negotiable."

"Who?" I frowned.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again.

"Your guidance counselor at school, Savannah!" He exclaimed.

"Oh, yeah, right!" I quickly tried to recover, looking over to where Stiles still lurked. "I knew that, my guidance counselor—pfft, I was testing you." He stared at me disbelievingly and I put my hands up. "It was a joke! I have a skewed sense of humor, what can I say?"

"Uh huh." He deadpanned, not buying it for a minute. But hey, he's sheriff for a reason, right? He's not paid to be gullible. "It'll be Ms. Morrell, your _guidance counselor_ at school. Twice a week. Same as Group, but now that means you're going to acutally have to show up for school at least twice a week. Ms. Morrell will reporting to me after every meeting, but I still expect to hear from you every two weeks."

"Done, done, and done." I clapped my hand on the table and rose from my seat. "Thank you so much, Sheriff. You're a really great man, ya know that?"

He pursed his lips and waved me off. "Yeah, yeah," He mumbled, unimpressed, and I heard Stiles scrambling to move as I rounded the corner of the dining room.

He sat awkwardly in a chair in the living room, his legs crossed in a _very_ un-Stiles-like manner, his hands gripping a knee. He cleared his throat and I looked over him, noting that he now wore his grey jacket over top of a black t-shirt. I winked at him and wagged an okay sign, gesturing to his change of attire. "Very nice," I nodded, and he tilted his head to feign ignorance. "Much better. It really brings out your eyes."

"What?" He quipped, his voice a little too high to be casual. "What are you talking about? I spilled—something. On my shirt. This has nothing to do with—"

"Stiles." His dad said, realization dawning in his voice. "You're still here." I'm starting to pick up, after all these years of knowing him, that Sheriff Stilinski's favorite method of speaking is saying one thing when he's _actually_ saying something else. See, what he said was that Stiles is still here. What he _meant_ is that Stiles stayed behind from his date with Lydia, which he was panicking over just before this, solely so he could eavesdrop on his dad's work.

And Stiles knows that. He heard what his dad was actually saying, even if he pretended not to. "Yeah. Yep, yeah I am, because I spilled—ah, I spilled my drink on my shirt and I had to change. And then I sat here because I'm—waiting to hear back from Scott. Yep."

Sheriff's eyes narrowed. "Uh huh." He said, using the same tone he used on me. "And where is your drink at? I don't remember seeing you with one, do you remember, Savannah?"

I tauntingly frowned and shook my head. "Now that you mention it, I didn't notice him drinking anything."

"Well, see, that's because I spilled it." He continued, and his phone pinged. "Ah! But, there's Scott now, so I've changed, and Scott's answered, and I'm ready to go, so I'm leaving now to go on my date-not-date with Lydia at the ice skating rink—"

"Wait," Sheriff crossed his arms and sent Stiles that parental glare that said he was about to ask him to do something, but even though it might be phrased as a question it's actually a command. He appeared to like to make it look like Stiles had a choice in a lot of things, when he actually didn't. "Savannah," He turned to me and I raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you go with them?"

"No—" Stiles and I chorused. Sheriff stubbornly rose his chin at the two of us and Stiles and I exchanged a wide eyed glance.

"She's got a thing," Stiles jerked a thumb at me, and I tried to nod along convincingly. It's been a while since I've had to lie to a parent, and I'm a little rusty. Stiles' lead may not be the best to follow, I slowly realize, as he goes on. "And besides, it's not really her kinda thing anyways—"

"Hanging out with kids her own age isn't her thing?" Sheriff looked at Stiles from the corner of his eye before shaking his head. "No, I don't think so. Savannah, what do you say? I mean, you won't be in Group anymore, but now you'll be in school a lot. So that means you're going to need to at least _try_ and make friends." I opened my mouth to try and smooth this hot mess over, but Sheriff continued. "In fact, if you want me to believe you've changed so much, prove it. I think it'll be great for you to have some exposure to kids your own age."

"Hhhoh," I breathed, unable to form a coherent word as I laughed awkwardly and glanced between Stiles and his father. I scratched my cheek nervously, my mind racing as I tried to conjure a scenario where this _didn't_ end in me leaving the house with Stiles. "Prove it…" I stalled, flapping my hands uselessly at my side and looking at Stiles with wide eyes. He seemed just as lost as I was, unable to throw me any sort of life preserver, and I finally settled for looking back at Sheriff. "That's… okay."

"Okay," Stiles and his dad chorused, but Stiles' was high pitched and incredulously questioning, and his dad's was just smug.

"You're right." I strode up to stand next to Stiles, "I need to spend more time with kids my own age. It's time I branch out of my comfort zone."

Stiles stood stiffly next to me. "For the record, this is a terrible idea." He growled, and I shrugged as his father sent him a look that said, 'I know better than you.'

"Trust me." Sheriff pointed at both of us. "You might be surprised."

"Okay," I grinned fakely, gesturing to Stiles. "Lead the way."

He glowered at me, but turned on his heel to trudge through the door.

"And Stiles, call me—"

"To let you know when I'll be home. I know. Got it."

We stepped out on the porch and I unscrewed my smile, reaching out to smack Stiles on the shoulder.

"What the hell was that!?" I hissed, and he jumped back to put some distance between us as he clutched weakly at his shoulder.

"Me!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands out to me in disbelief. "No, you! You what the hell, Savannah!"

"First of all, you eavesdropped on a _very_ private conversation. Did you get it all, or would you like for me to elaborate? Do you perhaps have a recording device stashed in those pockets? Should I speak up, enunciate to make sure Scott is getting this all clearly?"

"Nope." Stiles quipped back with just as much sarcasm. He tapped his head. "Got it all right here. I'm not going to apologize for that, it's _my_ house. But let's get one thing clear—you don't _actually_ want to come ice skating on our double date, do you?"

I stared at him, wondering why he even had to ask. " _No!_ " I exclaimed, and he sighed in relief. "But I had to do something to get your dad off our backs, since you were just standing there like a limp noodle! Some back bone you got there," I poked gently at his back and he swatted at my hands. "How can you even stand upright without a spine!?"

"I was caught off guard!" He snapped defensively, sidestepping my hands from any more pokes. "This is so not how I saw my evening going… I should be with Lydia right now, and instead, I'm _here_."

"Well, let me alleviate you of your position." I bit back, stomping down his porch. "Wouldn't want to _inconvenience_ you—"

"Nope," He cut me off, grabbing me by the wrist to drag me towards his jeep. "My dad is going to be watching to see if you leave with me." I raised my eyebrows when he turned to look at me, looking pointedly from his face, to his hand on my wrist, and back to his face. "Alright, and I'm letting go," He put his hands up neutrally and scoffed. "Geez, you're just like Derek."

I pouted slightly. "That's offensive!" A smirk tugged at his mouth, but before he could comment, I came to a halt by his passenger door. "I'm not going with you on this date." I stubbornly reiterated.

"I know that," He drawled, putting his hands out as if to say ' _What do I look like?_ ' "But you've gotta at least make it seem like you are, I told you! My dad is probably watching for visual confirmation as we speak."

I stared at Stiles' honest face and considered my options. Knowing that he probably spoke the truth about his dad, and knowing that I would need to continue to play by Sheriff's rules—especially in light of recent events, I sighed heavily and snapped the light blue jeep door open.

It screeched under my harsh grab and stiles groaned out in protest. "Be careful," He whined. "This isn't much, but it's all I've got." He pet the dash lovingly as he slid into the driver's seat. "She didn't mean it, baby," He cooed.

I scrunched my eyebrows at him. "I thought you loved Lydia."

He peered down his nose at me, looking away to turn the key in the ignition. The jeep rumbled to life, and I mulled over the strong laundry detergent, and deeper spice scent that radiated from every corner of this jeep as he pulled away from the curb. "I've got room in my heart for both of them." He simply stated, drawing a snort from me. A few awkward moments of silence extended between us. I didn't even attempt to fill it as I stared out the window, watching the trees pass.

"Listen," Stiles shifted uncomfortably and subtly lifted a shoulder; something that I suddenly suspected may be a nervous tick from him. "I wanted to—ah, make a point to acknowledge that I was wrong about you." I gaped at him. He glanced at me briefly before focusing back on the road. "I mean, as far as the Erica thing goes… It just looked bad, ya know? And I'm just trying to do the best that I can with this whole… werewolf thing. I don't always make the right choice, and I know that. That doesn't mean I can't own up to my mistakes though."

I listened to his steady heartbeat, not detecting any hint of deceit or ulterior motive. When I decided he was sincere, I settled a bit and looked back through the windshield. I sighed before finally responding, "I think that… between you and Scott, you're the smarter one. You might've been wrong about me, but that doesn't mean that your motivations were wrong. I can be a raging bitch, but that doesn't mean I can't see the obvious. It's obvious that you care a lot about your friends. Derek isn't the most… reliable, or trustworthy person on the planet, trust me—I get that. And I know I'm undeserving of any trust at all, given my history, so… I think I would've suspected the same thing, if I were in your shoes."

He breathed out a sigh of relief and suddenly the entire dynamic between us lifted. " _Thank_ you!" He glanced between me and the road. "I knew I wasn't being paranoid!"

"No, I get it! I'm the same way." I turned to face him head on and jabbed at the console between us. "Most of the time, Derek and I can't agree on a _single_ thing. He always wants to just rush into things head first, jump in, confront, threaten, spy… Well, the last one, I usually am okay with."

Stiles snorted, flicking on his turn signal. "Same thing with Scott and I!" He nodded. "They're both shoot first, ask later. I just thought it was a werewolf thing," He said, looking over at me thoughtfully.

"His plans always suck. I usually have to dial the violence back about six notches before we can do anything. You should've seen the way he convinced me to take the bite… Sometimes, he can just be kind of stupid."

"Hey," Stiles cut a hand through the air. "You don't have to tell _me_ about stupid plans. One time, Scott wanted to—" He suddenly seemed to remember who he was talking to, which in turn reminded me. His mouth clamped shut and I quickly swung in my seat so I was facing forward, ramrod straight, staring through the windshield.

It was my turn to shift uncomfortably as I snuck a peek at Stiles. His face was hard for me to read, a peculiar mixture of embarrassment, surprise, and confusion, and I cleared my throat before nodding to the side of the road. "You can just drop me off here."

"What—here?" He glanced between the road, the side of the road, and me. Just beyond the side of the road lay woods, and I know it must seem strange to him as I nodded, but I couldn't stay in the jeep with him for much longer without suffocating.

"Yep," I simply said, my voice tight, and as he slowed and pulled to the side, I hopped out of the passenger seat before the jeep had even come to a complete stop. Stiles choked out in surprise and protest, muttering something under his breath that might've been a comment on my haste, or I don't know what, but I didn't pause to try and decipher it before swinging his door shut and waving at him briefly before striding into the woods.

* * *

 _ **Unlikely friends. Will they give each other a chance? Hmmm...**_


	15. Bobbing for Cocaine

**_Hello, my wonderful readers c: Here's the next one! Not quite as long as the last one, but I wouldn't say it's short, either. This was somewhat of a filler chapter.  
_**

* * *

The blood, the blood, the blood of the lamb

It's worth two lions, but here I am

 _\- Uma Thurman, by Fall Out Boy_

* * *

Explaining where I had been all night to Derek last night had been… strange. I felt like a teenager justifying herself to her parents, but when I told him it would keep the Argents off our backs for at least a couple more days, until they figured out that I had switched therapy sessions, he seemed to calm right down.

Currently, it was the next morning, and I was sitting with Isaac, laughing and generally enjoying myself. We were seated on the steps of the warehouse. Erica sat nearby. She had already done her hair, _where_ she got curling iron from, I'll never know—and was now moving into the makeup phase of her look for the day.

"Okay," Isaac sat, as she began to smear her foundation onto her face, rubbing it in with her fingers. She tilted her head in the light, trying to make sure it was evenly applied. "What the heck is she doing now? Did she just—did she just put _skin_ colored lotion on?"

"Ah," I smirked. "The dreaded foundation. Good for humans with pesky skin problems that _every_ other person on the surface of the planet has. It covers acne, discoloration, and masks that displeasing skin-look you were born with. Why have a face of normal skin, when you can have plastic?"

Isaac's face scrunched up in confusion, and we continued our running commentary as if Erica couldn't hear us. She growled to herself and rolled her eyes, visibly struggling not to react.

"Wouldn't it rub off?" He asked, blinking cluelessly at me. I couldn't stop a genuine smile of affection from blossoming across my face, resisting the urge to reach out and pinch his cheeks. "I mean—say you're kissing a guy… what if your foundation rubbed off onto his face? _What_ —" He started, actually repositioning himself to sit up so he could ask this next part (that's how serious he took it) "What if you're different races? What if your face is covered in foundation that's the color of Elmer's glue, and then you're kissing your crush, who's a lot darker than you, and—" His hands splayed out, before one came back to gesture all around his mouth. "It looks like he went bobbing for cocaine?"

Somehow, through my laughter, I managed to look to Erica. "Hey, Barbie…" I chuckled. "You wanna take this one?"

"If I'm making out with my crush, and a little bit of my foundation gets on his face, it's gonna be the last thing on his mind." She cockily stated, turning her nose up in the air as she moved on to applying her blush.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Isaac shook his head. "Girl crap like that can really freak guys out. I, for one, had no idea that there were so many tools involved." He paused. "Or steps. Or… lotions and powders."

"Tools?" I raised an eyebrow at him, and he looked innocently back to me. "You _sound_ like a tool when you call them that…"

"Utensils?" He tried. I scrunched my face up even more. "Kits?" Hesitating, I bobbed my head back and forth as if to say he was getting closer. "Kits, then."

"Brushes," Erica finally snapped. "The word you're looking for is _brushes_. We don't use utensils; we're not _cooking_ , and we don't use tools, we're not working on a _car!_ "

I silently mocked her behind my hand to Isaac, though made no real effort to hide that fact from Erica as she sat right in front of us. Isaac smirked at my childishness, and then turned to me to ask another question.

"Hey, how come you don't do all that crap?" He asked, waving all around the makeup and beauty products lying around Erica.

I shrugged a single shoulder, looking down at my hands. "I could never afford it."

He tilted his back and squinted at me. "…You don't need it."

My mouth fell open in a surprised grin, and I reached out to nudge his shoulder. "Awww! Shit, Lahey, you're the first guy to say that to me and _not_ expect anything in return!"

He mockingly scoffed, crossing his arms. "What do you mean? On your knees, bit—"

Before he could even finish the sentence, I had tackled him. We tumbled down the stairs, sending the majority of Erica's makeup scattered across the dirty cement. I heard something crack under Isaac's back as I rolled him under me, our arms locked at an impasse. He struggled to turn me over, his legs flailing, and I curled my leg over his to pin him down. My hands were trapped under his back and we were slurring out insults to each other through our laughter, as I tried to tug my hand out from under him.

"Isaac!" I screeched. "Sit up a little, I need my hands so I can tear your hair out!"

"Oh, okay!" He sarcastically grunted, squeezing his arms so that my arms wouldn't budge between his arms and his sides. "I'll get right on that, you psychotic bitch!"

"Call me a bitch _one_ more time—"

"My _eyeshadow!_ " Erica whined. "You just broke my eyeshadow!"

"Why, that's what you are!" Isaac bit back, both of us ignoring Erica's comments.

"I swear to god, the moment I can use my hands—Fuck it—"

"Oh my god!" He all but squealed, "Are you _licking_ me—"

A hand gripped the back of my jacket and lifted both of us up. Isaac let out a whoop of surprise and immediately lifted his arms from where they were squeezing my forearms to his sides. The result was Isaac smacking the ground below me, and myself being held up from the ground at a startling height.

I kicked against Derek's grip, still trying to swipe down at Isaac, and Derek got in my face to roar at me.

While my insults sputtered to a halt, I was still weakly wriggling against him. Unlike Isaac, when Derek pulls the alpha card on me, I don't squeak like a church mouse and run for cover.

Which, apparently pisses Derek off quite a bit. He's one of those power-hungry leaders, I think, of the mind that fear rules them all, and my lack of total submission only served to stoke the flame. He sent me sprawling down on the ground hard enough that I rolled a few times, redeeming himself slightly in the eyes of our pack members as he loomed over me.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" He growled dangerously, his eyes sliding around the scene before us. Erica's makeup was strewn about, her eyeshadow she spoke of before shattered on the ground where Isaac and I had been wrestling. She held some of the products to her chest like they were precious gems, or her children, and was currently sneering at me as Derek scolded us. "How old are you two, five?"

Keeping my chin down, I glared up at him from the ground and watched as he stepped back to continue.

"I didn't choose you three so that you could bicker like children and treat this like it's a game." He seriously continued, pacing the ground as he looked at from face to face. "Do I need to remind you that the Argents are actively searching for us? So that they can _massacre_ us?"

"Did they send me daughters, when I asked for sons," I muttered under my breath, referencing the scene from Mulan. Derek whirled on his heel to glare at me, fire in his eyes, and I sat up from where I had been laying on the ground. "Derek, you know that out of the three of us, I take the Argents' threats the most seriously. I'm the only one that's come face to face with them!"

"Let's just not lose sight of the problem," He put his hands out and shook his head. The tension dissipated from the room slightly, enough that we all relaxed from our tense positions and I stood so that I could brush myself off. "I want one more to join our pack."

I raised my eyebrows. We had a grand total of four at this point… It seemed like he was getting a little greedy. Isaac finally spoke up. "Anyone in mind?" He asked from where he had resituated himself on the steps.

"I've had my eye on someone. I'm actually gonna need your help, Savannah," He turned to me and I bit back an obstinate snort.

"Oh?" I said dryly. He seemed to realize, perhaps for the first time, that I was less than enthused with him at the moment.

Derek turned to look at me, his face that familiar blank stalwart. I watched an eyebrow tighten, though, the only visible indication that he was feeling anything about the fact that I was angry. "I heard you liked ice skating."

I froze, peering up at him slowly. "…What did you say?"

He raised an eyebrow at my reaction, my first clue that perhaps we were talking about two different things. "You got Jimmy fired from the ice rink."

My shoulders relax slightly for their tight position. "Oh," I breathed. "So?"

"So, someone had to take his position."

I stared uncomprehendingly up at him, waiting for him to make his point. He sighed at what he apparently felt to be my density, and turned away to pace. "I want you to help me convince Boyd to join."

" _Boyd?_ " I scrunched my face as I considered the prospect of him joining our pack. Well, true… he's a bit of a loner. He doesn't fit in anywhere, really; not many friends. People stay away from him because he's antisocial, and not afraid to growl at those who come too close to him. "No." I finally shook my head. "I see why you would consider him, but no."

"I wasn't asking." Derek crossed his arms stubbornly at me.

"Why not?" Isaac prompted from behind him, ignoring Derek's glare as he looked at me curiously. "What's wrong with Boyd?"

"Nothing… per se. He's fine. He's great! But… He tends to get a little too big for his shorts. At first, he'll seem eager, but he's actually really cocky."

Erica narrowed her eyes at me, her makeup still clutched in her arms. "That's not the only reason, is it?" She knowingly pointed out.

I cleared my throat and avoided Derek and Isaac's interested eyes, and toed the dirty cement awkwardly with the tip of my boot. "….Ah," I cleared my throat. "There's the chance that I might… have a history with him."

"A history?" Derek leaned down closer to get in my face, and I backed up with my hands raised in exasperation.

"I'm sorry! I have a racy past; we all know this! He's cute." I weakly explained.

"Honestly, I'm surprised we haven't run into something like this sooner." Erica flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder and I lunged mockingly at her, causing her to flinch. I smirked and turned cockily back to the others.

Isaac breathed out heavily and pressed an incredulous hand to his forehead as he shook his head at me.

"You're saying that you had sex with him." Derek bluntly clarified. My mouth popped open as I scrambled to find an excuse, running a nervous hand over my hair.

"I didn't say _that…_ I'm—saying that maybe _I'm_ not the best candidate to send in to try and convince him to let you bite his arm, so he can Hulk out with the rest of us."

Erica choked back her laughter. "Oh, my god," She laughed. "You're a slut!"

"Don't make me get a muzzle, Reyes! I know where you keep your makeup," I hissed, pointing at her warningly.

She raised her eyebrows. "You and Isaac owe me forty-eight dollars for that eyeshadow you ruined."

" _Forty-eight_ —" Isaac and I chorused in disbelief.

"What's it made of, gold flakes!?" I screeched.

"Enough!" Derek boomed. "We don't have time for this." He paused, clenching his jaw. "I still want to get Boyd. He'll be a good addition to have…" his green eyes flickered over to me, and I immediately looked away, rubbing my neck awkwardly.

"If you're trying to use my advice I gave you about how to convince teenagers better, why don't you take Erica along instead?" I suggested. Erica, in spite of our growing distaste for each other, perked up. She eagerly stared at Derek with wide, hopeful eyes. "Look, her tail is wagging," I smirked. "She'd love to."

Erica opened her mouth to retort, but Derek spoke over her. "Fine. I had planned something else for her, but you'll be doing it instead. Erica, you're with me today." I frowned as I realized that Derek had intended for me to spend the day with him. "Think you can manage distracting Scott's sidekick tonight without seducing him?"

I felt my face redden slightly in embarrassment, a phenomena that doesn't occur often—or easily. But with a new facet to my past bared for Derek to see, it was difficult to not feel embarrassed. "Yeah," I muttered. "Got it."

"Good." He growled, and with that, he strode toward the cart, calling to Erica to follow him. I lagged behind and watched pathetically as she excitedly skittered behind him. Sighing, I turned to share a defeated expression with Isaac, and offered him a dejected parting as I trudged up the stairs to leave for school.

* * *

"The idea is that you read the instructions…" Mr. Harris said above me, as I twirled a beaker in my hand and stared intently at the back of Scott's head. "And follow them."

"Oh," I smartly retorted. "I was just—"

" _Not_ reading instructions?" He finished snidely. I opened my mouth to finish, but he barreled over me. "This is how I know you aren't following directions," He swiped my paper from my desk and obnoxiously cleared his throat. "Step 1 – Check to make sure all of the beakers are cleaned, and free from residual chemicals that may have been left behind by previously neglectful students like yourself."

"Wow." I mockingly nodded. "That's pretty presumptuous to print on every lab sheet."

He squinted down and me and set the paper in front of my face. I looked down, and saw that he was actually holding my doodles. "Oh," I laughed uncomfortably. "I don't think that's what that says…"

"Yes," He put his hands behind his back and raised an eyebrow at me. "I can see what it says. It says you have detention, tomorrow night with me. I expect you to be punctual, and you'll get the chance to redo this lab. I'm being lenient with you, Ms. Carmichael… and do you know why?"

"Because you're so generous?" I weakly tried, flashing my best smile. He blinked at me, unimpressed.

"Because you actually bothered to show up today. And that tells me you're making an effort… In return, so will I. Do you see how that works?" He finished, prowling away from me so he could begin to prey on other unsuspecting classmates.

"I do see…" I pursed my lips and propped my chin on my hand.

"Tomorrow night. It would be _very_ unwise on your behalf, were you to let it slip your mind."

"Gotcha." I sighed, waiting until he turned away from me to let my head smack the table.

I had no partner. This probably has to do with the fact that I never attend class, seeing as it's my worst subject. Probably also the fact that if I were to have a partner, they'd be left hanging all the time. Harrison undoubtedly skipped assigning me one in the first place.

"Derek will probably be pretty upset when he hears you got a detention," Scott pointed out, having turned in his seat to look at me. He and Stiles both shared the table in front of me. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well then, that's what he gets for choosing high schoolers to join his pack." I vaguely retorted, setting the beaker down with a clank.

Stiles turned to watch as Scott tried to sneakily gather intel on his current nemesis, and my current alpha. "Are you saying that you disagree with him?" I simply scrunched my eyebrows at him, trying to actually focus on the lab directions I had unintentionally let fall to the ground. I smoothed the dirt that my boot had accidentally smeared across it, pretending to ignore Scott. "Because you're not wrong. I mean, how many has he tricked so far?" I sighed through my nose, my patience wavering. "Just you and Erica?"

"Don't forget Isaac," Stiles piped up helpfully. I sent him a scathing glare, and he dropped his finger awkwardly.

"Right," Scott nodded. "So that's three. I have a feeling he won't stop there; he's on a roll, and Erica isn't here today. Who else is he planning to lie to? How many others is it gonna take before you realize that you're better than that—"

I smacked my hand on the table, loud enough to draw some unwanted attention from our classmates. Scott and Stiles gaped at me with wide eyes. I waited until the nosy peers turned back to their labs before speaking. "That's the thing, Scott," I whispered lowly, leaning forward so that no one else overheard. "I'm _not_ better than him. I don't know why you keep prodding me for information about Derek, as if I'll tell you anything, but let's get one thing straight. I'm still the same girl that I was at the beginning of the year. I'm still that awful, poisonous bitch that tore anyone down to make a quick buck." Stiles and Scott both sat with their mouths popped open and an expression that I didn't bother trying to identify. "I'm not someone that you want to be friends with, got it? The problem isn't that I'm too good for Derek. The problem is that your are _both, way_ too good for me." I sat back and began to clear my table, as the bell was about to ring.

"Savannah…" Scott said, his voice quietly hesitant. I didn't look at him as I shoved the lab supplies back into their boxes. "Maybe you have made some bad decisions. But that's not… I can't judge you for that. I've never been where you have, and it's—impossible for me to say what I would've done if I lived your life." He scooted closer in his chair, completely turning around to try and speak directly to me. I ignored him, as well as the feeling of Stiles' eyes burning holes into the side of my head as Scott spoke lowly to me. "Stiles told me what he overheard you and his dad talking about." I froze, my eyes locking on Stiles'. He shrank back sheepishly, knowing exactly what he'd done wrong as Scott continued. "His dad also told him a little bit about what you've been through. We both know the truth."

Jaw tight, I felt a storm of emotions raging under my skin. Alarm, outrage, panic, and sharper than the rest of them… fear. Fear that for the first time in my whole life, someone was finally making the effort to try and understand me. To try and accept me, even. And I had no idea how to deal with it, or what to say, or if I should even trust it.

Finally, I opened my mouth and locked eyes with Scott. "You know _nothing_. As for Derek, say what you will about him, but he is the _sole_ reason I'm not on the streets. He, and he alone, picked me out of the hot mess that was my life, and he offered me a different path. He _fixed_ me," My voice broke, it was so tight with emotion. "I can't just turn my back on him. I'm not ready to go it alone yet, okay? I'm just _not._ You might not understand it, but I'm asking you to _please_ try and respect it."

And with that, I slid out of my stool so fast that it teetered dangerously behind me, ignoring Harrison's calls as I fled the room just as the bell rang.


	16. Vernon Milton Boyd IV

Just follow my yellow light

And ignore those big warning signs

 _\- Yellow Light, by Of Monsters and Men_

* * *

Crouching around the corner of a brick house is actually _not_ one of those things I find myself familiar with. In fact, this may be the first time I've ever done it… It wasn't my first choice. At first, I settled myself into the steps that led to the sidewalk, but then I considered what it would look like when Stiles pulled up and saw me seated in the open. If it were me, I'd speed past and take the next corner on two wheels.

So comfort has been foregone for camouflage, and what I like to consider as stealth. But I didn't _feel_ very stealthy, as a bush stuck its prickly hand up the back of my shirt and scraped against the back of my thighs. I growled and swatted at it, trying to snap it in half. Finally I just yanked the whole bush from the ground, uprooting it and sending soil and branches sprawling out onto the lawn.

A small Chihuahua began yapping at me from the end of its chain that was secured around the post of the neighbor's fence next door. I looked down at the mess I had made, visible from the street, and my temper boiled as the small rodent continued yipping at me. My foot stomped the ground as I pushed away from my hiding place to snap back at the dog, and I smiled when the tiny, trembling dog skittered back under their porch with a yelp.

I turned back, a smirk etched on my face as I thought what to do about the bush that was now conspicuously… lying in the middle of their yard. I stood erect and ran a hand into my black hair, at a loss for what to do. The window in front of me, above where I had been crouching, caught my attention.

Or, more specifically, the room inside the window did. Dark blue curtains were slid open, and billowing into the room. There was no screen, something that struck me as strange. And then I realized, as I saw the jacket lying haphazardly across the mussed bed, that this was Boyd's room. Unconsciously, I moved closer to peer into the room where that the boy slept in, my eyes glued on the army printed jacket.

I tilted my head and, on a whim, I dove into his room.

Before you judge me too much, no. I didn't plan to snoop through Boyd's things. But, I couldn't detect anyone else in his house, and it beats waiting around the side of the house for Stiles to finally show up. I knew he was on his way here.

I stepped over his messy room, overwhelmed with his scent as I picked my way to the door. He smelled the same; Bod cologne, aftershave, and now he also smelled like whatever cleaning supplies he uses at the ice rink.

I followed the hall outside his bedroom and into the living room. I could see through the barred window of the front door that Stiles had yet to arrive, so I set about perusing what Boyd's living room held.

I raised my eyebrows when I spotted a young, bright eyed, bushy tailed Boyd grinning broadly for the school's camera. It must've been his elementary years; he's missing a tooth. I touched the dust ridden frame, trailing a finger through the thick grey substance, and frowned at a label that had been placed over the frame… it read, _Vernon Milton Boyd IV, second grade, Ms. Trudy's class._ My eyebrows shot up. Vernon?

Boyd's first name isn't… Boyd? Since when!? It seemed like something that would've come up, especially when we were still on speaking terms. Then again, maybe it did. I don't remember much from those days. Including... well. Never mind.

Just then, the rumble of a shotty jeep engine sidled up on the street. I turned my back to the picture of Boyd— _Vernon_ , and wondered how long it would take for Stiles to come banging on the door.

Not long, it would seem, as his figure appeared through the barred window of the door on the porch. The white strings of his red jacket bounced forward as he began frantically pounding his fists against the metal storm door.

"Boyd!" His muffled voice leaked through the walls of the house. I smiled and tiptoed toward the door. "Boyd, open up!" Just as he turned to leave, I yanked the door open. He whirled on his heels, teetering dangerously on the steps he almost toppled down, "Boyd!" He breathed. "Thank god, listen to me—have you seen a man about—oh my god," His hands shot up to protect his face, though from what I can't say.

The storm door swung open as I stepped out of the house, forcing Stiles to stumble down a step to give me room. His mouth flopped open helplessly.

"Stiles," I smirked. "What brings you to the neighborhood?"

"I—" He frowned, his mind finally catching up. "I think you know."

"Well…" I continued down the steps, enjoying the fact that for each step I took toward him, he took two back from me. "Now that you mention it, I might've overheard the little plan you and Scott concocted, and there are a few points that I'd like to discuss, if you have a minute."

"Oh," He turned away from me to flee down the steps, talking over his shoulder. "See, I'd love to, but I really gotta go—"

I quickly stepped down onto the sidewalk to continue following him to his jeep. "See, _I_ wasn't really asking." He seemed to want to interject, but I barreled over him, and he clamped his mouth shut helplessly. "First of all, it was a _really_ bad idea for you to split up from your master…" Stiles brown eyes widened as he slowly perceived that I might be a threat to him when I placed a well-aimed grip on the tender part of his shoulder, squeezing gently. He gulped and tried futilely to escape my grasp. I reached down to prod gently at his side, right at the soft spot was between his ribs and his stomach, and he tried to scramble away from me. I continued to tickle him sporadically as I spoke, "Such a long way from home, no tags… Good thing it was me that found you. Could you imagine if it had been Derek?"

" _Speaking_ of Derek," He swatted at my hands, and channeled his anger into his words. "Are you still blindly following his commands? What are you, an attack dog?" Stiles sneered, and I had to let go of his shoulder before I hurt him. He took a healthy step away from me so he could optimize his glare, as I flexed my hand at my side and rolled my jaw before responding.

"You're one to talk. You do Scott's bidding _just_ like I do Derek's—"

"No, actually Scott and I plan things together, and then I…" He gestured between himself and an imaginary Scott, his voice hesitating as he tried to reason it out. "Go do what we both decide would be best for me, and it seems we overlooked your eavesdrop range, because we didn't expect you to be waiting for me. Won't make that mistake again, thank you, Savannah, it's been enlightening—"

He tried to step casually around me, but I matched him. He swallowed and looked up at me, stepping the other way. I matched it. He exhaled and laughed awkwardly. I started to laugh with genuine humor, and his light brown eyes glinted hesitantly, watching as I laughed. "You know what else I heard in your conversation with Scott? You complimented Scott on his newfound heroism, and then confessed something to him…"

Stiles' face changed as he realized where I was going with this. It was stuck between embarrassment and exasperation, "You're taking this completely out of context—"

"And _then_ ," I laughed, shrugging a shoulder to mirror Stiles, (something I've definitely confirmed to be a nervous tick of his) "you suggested making out with Scott." I let my guffaws take over, and Stiles laughed fakely, mimicking me when I scrunched a teasing nose at him and scrunched my shoulders playfully. He dropped his laugh, but I continued chuckling as I went on. " 'Just to see how it feels'… Now, my question is… If I were to join your weird little democratic pack, would steamy make out sessions between the two of you be on the table?"

Stiles barked out an insincerely amused "Oh," And then pushed my shoulder. "Shut up. It was a joke!"

"Well, I'm just saying," I smirked, shrugging and walking backwards toward his jeep. "Maybe you have some suppressed urges building up. Who says that they won't… _climax_ at a certain point? If that's something that might happen, I might wanna be around to see it –"

"Would you knock it off!" He snapped, his cheeks dusting pink. I giggled with joy at his reaction and cruelly continued.

"Or, it doesn't have to be on the table." He seemed to relax slightly at my words. I continued without missing a beat as I finally touched the passenger door of his jeep. "I'm not picky. It could be a chair," I began to tick them off on my fingers, "or the ground, or—ooohh! A _bed_ ," I gasped smartly at him. "How hot would that be!?"

"I'm so past done with this conversation." He mumbled as he opened his door. I smiled and tugged his passenger door open, and he came up short to jab a frantic finger at me. "Whoa!" He batted his hand through the air, as if he could physically smack my hand off the handle of his jeep. "What are you doing?! You can't come with me!"

"Actually…" I held up his keys and winked at him. "I think I can."

His mouth popped open and he reached down to pat his pockets. "How—" His voice was strangled slightly, breaking as he tore at his empty pockets. "When! How!"

"Well, ignoring the fact that you underestimate a retired criminal, I didn't just tickle you to watch you squirm." I winked at him, enjoying the fresh bout of red that stained his cheeks. He huffed and nodded, popping his waiting palm out at me over the top of his jeep.

"All right. Very nice, Savannah, very stealthy. I'm impressed. Almost as impressed as I was to see you'd broken into Boyd's house. Very sneaky, when it comes to illicit activity, you take the cake. Okay? Can I get my keys back now?"

I laughed at him and reached my fist across the jeep, "Thank you for acknowledging that. _Finally,_ " I smacked my fist into his palm and smirked as his knuckles rapped against the blue metal. Opening my hand, I revealed that it was empty and shook his keys in my other hand. "But I'm driving."

" _No_." His face lost all mirth and good nature as he shook his head at me. "No way. No one drives my baby but me."

"Maybe you should be more careful about keeping her keys then," I teasingly grimaced at him and winked as I snatched the keys back, stepping around the jeep with inhuman speed. I stopped nose to nose with him, not looking away from his eyes as I stood there.

"That was fast," He deadpanned.

"I have long legs." I smugly replied, and his eyes actually flickered down to look at my legs. I smirked deliciously at him and he shook his head at me, scoffing quietly.

"Really?" He dryly commented. "You're going with that excuse?"

"Well, it was more fun than pointing out the obvious." I advanced toward him so that he would put some distance between himself and the driver's door. Popping it open, I shot him a wink as I slid into his seat and he whined helplessly at me. I peered through the window and rolled it down using the crank; seeing as his jeep was old enough that it wasn't equipped with motorized windows. "Get in, loser." I chirped. "We're going shopping."

He threw his hands up in exasperation and stomped around the nose of the jeep, grumbling to himself the whole way as I laughed at my own joke. Tearing the passenger door open, he huffily plopped into the seat next to me and slammed the door shut. He crossed his arms and pouted at the dash.

"Aw, bad day at school, Junior? Are the neighbor kids bothering you again?" I puffed my bottom lip out mockingingly and reached over to pinch Stiles' cheek, and he quickly ducked out of my reach. "Poor baby," I cooed, and he seethed at me.

"Have you always been this sarcastic, or is this a result of the bite?" He snapped.

I let my eyebrows shoot up. "Well, I would say that it's a defense mechanism brought on by dealing with pesky criminals in the streets, but honestly I think I was this way even before my life fell apart." His expression softened from its sharp, pissed off, pinched state it had been in. I clenched my jaw and looked away to start patting at the sides of the seat. "Say, how do you slide this seat forward?"

"Oh," He complained, his momentary lapse of sympathy for me having vanished. "You're readjusting everything… this is like molestation. I feel violated. I can't watch," He crossed his arms again and huffed at Boyd's house. I snorted out a giggle at his reaction, finally locating the bar underneath the seat that is used to slide forward. "I thought you said you had long legs," He haughtily pointed out, still stubbornly facing the window.

"I do, but in case you haven't noticed, you're still taller than I am. Proportionally speaking, my legs _are_ long in comparison with the rest of my body…. I had no idea you were so melodramatic," I teased, adjusting the review mirror. He huffed wordlessly at the window, his arms tightening around himself.

"You know, you might be the most frustrating female I've encountered to date."

"Aww, stop it, Stiles," I winked at the side of his face, as he still wouldn't look at me. "You're making me blush!"

"Where are we even going? Are you taking me back to wherever your batcave is located, so you can torture more information out of me?"

"I've got about a thousand different responses flying through my mind right now." I admitted as I turned the keys in the ignition, shifting into drive. "I'll omit the more sexually inclined ones, to spare you from some intense embarrassment, and settle for a few tamer replies." I cleared my throat and checked the mirrors as I pulled away from the curb. "First of all, batcave? Really? That's the best you've got? We're werewolves, not vampires… a more apt name would've been _den_. But you can save that for next time. Secondly, the whole point of the batcave was that it was a _secret lair_ , and while I reject the name, I accept its purpose, and therefore: if I were taking you to our _den_ , I would probably have you blindfolded or unconscious."

Somewhere in the midst of my little rant, he had turned to gawk at me. "Wow." He finally said. "I had no idea you were so villainous."

I snuck a peek at him as I drove, and indulged in a smirk. "You continue to underestimate me, Stiles."

"If we're not going back to your _den_ , then where are you taking me?" He paused to consider something. "The ice rink?"

"Oh, yup!" I sarcastically quipped. "You guessed it! Good deduction skills, Stiles. I was waiting for you at Boyd's house, not to _distract_ you from finding him or otherwise becoming involved, but to take you directly to him. Just cut the mystery of it all right out for you."

"Well, now that you mention it, that seems… counterproductive." He looked at me and I pinched my lips together as I raised my eyebrows pointedly at him, my eyes still focused on the road. "…You're not really taking me shopping, are you?"

I reached out to start jabbing at the buttons on his radio.

"Hey!" He tried to smack my hand away, but I just smacked his hand back and tried to continue fiddling with the radio. He continued to try smacking my hand away, and I continued to smack _his_ hand away, which simply put, means… Stiles and I engaged in a slap fight. "S-Stop!" He grunted, and I started to laugh. He paused and looked at me with wide eyes.

"We just had a slap fight." I pointed out, giddily giggling at the fact. "Like a bunch of two year olds," And Stiles breathed out a hesitant laugh, too. Abruptly, we both noticed our hands were still touching, his skin cool under my fingers. I jerked mine out of his grasp like I was burned and gripped the wheel with white knuckles, sitting rigidly in the seat.

Stiles' pulse thrummed in my ears. That spicy undertone in his scent amplified with his confused nervousness, and wafted toward me in waves. I clenched my jaw as my face burned hotly. Music suddenly crawled into the jeep. Kesha started an upbeat tune, effectively sucking some of the awkward tension out of the small, cramped space, and I relaxed some. Nothing like good ole synthpop to kill awkward silences…

"Hey," Stiles suddenly frowned, all traces of awkwardness having left his voice. "Is that Jackson's house?"

I sighed and continued past it. "We're not here for him," I steered the jeep around the corner and parked outside a smaller, brick house. Stiles turned to gape incredulously at me.

"Are you serious!? We're at Isaac's house—why are we here? What are we doing here?"

"Because I'm getting tired of hear him complain about the fact that he doesn't have any sweatpants to sleep in." I turned to peer around Stiles at the yellow police tape that still roped Isaac's house off from the public. But apparently, enough time had finally passed that there were no longer police stationed on the corner of his street, so I took that as a green light and unbuckled my seat belt. "Honestly, his clothes are starting to ripen. He's not the best smelling kid as of now, and I'm sick of living with it, so I'm getting him a clean change of clothes."

"You want to break into the house of a murder victim?" Stiles voice was shrill as he shook his head disbelievingly. "You do know that my dad is the sheriff, right?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Really? You're going with that excuse?" I quipped, mocking his earlier comment.

"Well, it was more fun than pointing out the obvious." He threw back, and I smirked at him.

"What's the worst that could happen?" I reached out to pop the door open without waiting for a response.

Quickly ducking through his front yard, I scowled at Stiles' loud, haphazard door as he slammed it shut. He mimicked the crouching run I did, meeting me up on their porch. "What's the worst that could happen!?" He hissed. "Do you know what— _of all the things you could've said_ —everyone knows that when someone says that before doing a stupid idea, they _die!_ Or worse!"

I gestured wildly to the jeep behind us, and dragged Stiles closer behind their awning. "Well, slamming your door shut was probably not the best decision either! Why don't you just bring an _air horn_ next time, I don't think the neighbors a block over heard you!"

He made a childish face at me, which I returned before turning my attention to the door. "What now, O hardened criminal?" He smartly asked. "You didn't have any trouble getting into Boyd's house. What's the matter? Can't you just pick the lock?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Did you bring a lock pick? Bobby pin? Paper clip? Credit card?"

"Must've left them with my air horn back at the jeep." He squinted at me and I pressed my lips together.

"Well, good thing I don't need one." I loosely replied, and twisted their doorknob until the lock snapped.

He chirped out a laugh and shook his head. "I will never get used to that…"

I turned to lock gazes with him and pressed a finger to my lips.

His eyes widened and he clamped his mouth shut. Pointing frantically into the dark house, he made a face that silently asked if there was someone in there.

I turned away ambiguously, and crept into the doorway. Stiles stuck closely behind me, his breath rustling the hair on my shoulders. A strong wave of anxiety rolled off him and I found it difficult to ignore as I strained to hear for anything else in the house…

It was quiet, aside from the frantic thrumming of Stiles' heart behind me. I let my fist snap back to gently nudge his shoulders as I stood erect. "Geez, Stiles. Get it together, man," I winked, strolling through the house like I owned it. We came across the evidence of the struggle that Isaac had referenced. A small yellow police marker was situated next to the glass, one of many placed throughout the house. I was careful not to disturb them as I made my way around the kitchen.

Stiles huffed behind me, still bitter about what he perceived to be me messing with him. "While this might not be the most questionable thing I've done in the eyes of the law, tampering with a crime scene _really_ ranks up there."

"Why did they even feel this was all necessary?" I bitterly snapped. "It's not like Isaac's dad's body was sprawled across the kitchen table…"

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "They need to document everything as it was found. Obviously, there was struggle here. This is the home of a man who was brutally murdered. They've gotta document all the evidence they can. This is still a crime scene."

"Cops are stupid…" I muttered, and then glanced back at Stiles. "Except for Sheriff Stilinski," I quickly amended. "He's not stupid."

Stiles seemed pleasantly surprised at the fact that I made a point to clarify that, and simply watched me as I froze. He followed suit, stiffening as caution trickled out of his pores. I tilted my head and pointed at what must be the basement door… or must have _been_ the basement door. It was now a pile of splintered wood. "That's not been marked."

I turned to see him frowning. "…Yeah. That doesn't mean anything good."

"Well why wouldn't they mark it?" I tilted my head.

He looked back at me grimly, his mouth a straight line. "Because we're not the only ones to have been in here after the cops left."

The hairs on my arms rose. I lifted my chin and looked back at the basement. "Someone else was in here?"

I sniffed the air, trying to nail down a scent. "You know, before it just felt morally questionable, but now… this has taken a turn down the _stupid kids in a horror movie that naively ignore the warning signs thrown at them like neon signs_ path."

"Pahh," I waved him off. "It was just Derek and Scott." I paused, sniffing again. "And Allison."

Stiles frowned. "Scott?... _Oh,_ right. He used the basement for the full moon. Allison locked him in the deep freezer."

I turned to gape at him. His own words seemed to register in his mind, and he shook his head. "I didn't peg Allison as the kinky type…"

"It's not like that—" He started, and I smirked at him.

"It's cool," I paused in my smart comment and turned my head to the side. Moss and wet mud… and something… more _burning._ Whatever killed Isaac's dad, and tracked me outside with the Argents, has been in the house at some point. I stiffened and turned down the hall to find Isaac's room. "Come on." I said in what must have been an abrupt tone change for Stiles, because he blinked at me, "Let's hurry up and get out of here. It's giving me the creeps."

"Ah," Stiles cringed. "I think the fact that something creeps you out is enough to make me wanna get the hell out of here…"

I smirked humoredly at him. "That's probably the smartest thing you've said so far." Walking up to the desk in Isaac's room, I snatched his lacrosse bag from where it was hanging on his desk chair and dumped the contents on the ground. Stiles joined me and picked up Isaac's lacrosse stick to twirl it in his hands.

He watched me as I began to shove clothes into his bag. I chose things at random: jeans, shirts, jackets, and when I opened a drawer filled with boxers and socks, I hesitated.

"Stiles—" I turned to see him trying to spin the lacrosse stick on his hand. He stumbled forward, his foot thudding against the floor loudly as he tried to catch its balance. Amusement and annoyance warred in my chest, and I tilted a dry expression at him as he struggled to keep it upright, but failed miserably as it sailed back and smacked him right on the forehead.

I choked back a laugh, turning away to just grab a fistful of boxers and stuff them quickly into the bag. I froze, my fist still locked around the boxers, as a quiet hiss drew my attention to the hallway behind us.

I smelled… wet mud, moss, and that weird, raw, novocaine scent.

I turned slowly, quietly looking at Stiles. He had stopped trying to balance the lacrosse stick and was already watching me, a strange expression on his face that landed somewhere close to… interest, and a hint of respect as he looked between me and the bag.

"You know, you try really hard to seem uncaring and mean, yet here you are packing an overnight bag for your packmate." A smile played at his teasing lips, and he raised an eyebrow at me, crossing his arms. "I think the truth is, you're actually really thoughtful and you try to look out for your—"

"Stiles." My voice was dark and dangerous, and Stiles' smirk dropped in a flash. He stiffened and I held a hand out to him to warn him not to move, my eyes on the creature crawling down the wall of the hall behind him. His breathing kicked up, and his heart galloped in his chest as the lizard… human… thing, trilled and hissed behind him, blinking its slitted eyes at me through the dark.


	17. The Amazing Spider-Man

_**Woo! Your guys' response to last chapter had me smiling so big XD Hope you like this one...**_

 _ **More to come shortly! Enjoy...**_

* * *

 _Somewhere deep in the dark,_

 _a howling beast hears us talk._

 _\- Yellow Light, by Of Monsters and Men_

* * *

Stiles' heart raced so fast, I thought it would burst through his chest, and his overwhelming terror was proving all but impossible to ignore as the creature hung from the wall to watch us. It tilted its head, the scales across its face glinting slightly in the weak light of the setting sun.

I lowered and felt the tips of my fingers burn slightly like they'd been carpet burned, as my claws came out and my eyes glowed bright blue. Stiles swallowed roughly and I felt my throat tighten and my chest rumble as I growled lowly at the creature, warning it not to get any closer than it already was. I could smell, through the laundry detergent and spice rolling from Stiles, frozen in front of me, moss and novacaine. It hissed at me, responding to my growl, and lowered one clawed hand from the wall to the ground.

My anger simmered hotly in my chest as the creature continued to challenge me, lowering another hand, inching closer to Stiles. He grew stock still when he heard the talons of the creature click against the floor as it lowered itself from the wall and crept even closer, his back rigid with fear and his trembling hands gripping the lacrosse stick with white knuckles. Deciding that the creature wouldn't stop closing in on Stiles, I quickly motioned for him to get behind me. His brown eyes, wide and shining somewhat gold in the setting sun that shone through the window, grew even bigger as he subtly shook his head back and forth with a tight neck.

Even through having given my senses over to the reigns of my primal instincts, I was lucid enough to recall Stiles' name, and to feel pissed off because he stubbornly stayed rooted in his spot on Isaac's floor as what can only be described as a _Lizard-Man hybrid_ filled the doorway, growing closer still.

"Stiles." My voice was gravelly and inhuman as I ground my teeth and waved an impatient, clawed hand at him. "The creature from the black lagoon is sniffing your fucking heels. You have to trust me just a _little_ bit if you want to live, get the _fuck—"_

Before I could even finish the sentence, Stiles had flown behind me at the exact moment that the lizard man lunged for him. I stepped forward and roared as loud as I could at the animal, finally able to counter its advances now that Stiles was safely out of the way. Its hackles rose and it reared back in surprise at the power of my roar, and it hissed and tilted its head in confusion and outrage that I hadn't backed down. I locked eyes with it, the irises an intense yellow slit that bled into a red color on the edges. At the heart of its eye was a black gash, like a snake's.

"I can't decide if you're a science experiment gone wrong, or just the embodiment of _every monster_ in every comic book _ever,_ " I growled, and its face, which had been pinched in what might've been surprise, flickered. Its lips parted to reveal grey, razor sharp rows of fangs, like a shark's, and I crouched protectively in front of Stiles and snarled threateningly at it. I expected it to lunge at me, but it only seemed _extremely_ confused as it looked between me and Stiles.

I watched as it sized me up and glanced one final time at Stiles, before finally turning to flee the room with a resounding shriek. Stiles stopped breathing, and his heart spasmed with fear. Part of me wanted to go after the thing. A very _large_ part, in fact, the part that I had surrendered to… the part that tore its way to the surface of my brain and my body with frightening ease. I don't know what to call this new piece of myself, the one that came along with the bite, but what I want to do when it takes over… it scares me. The human side of myself, the girl, would never dream of tearing after that monster that just hissed and trilled and _crawled down the wall_ to leer at me with eyes that mirror fucking _Sauron_ , but the other half… wants to make sure that whatever it is—it doesn't leave this house alive.

And the only reason that I didn't go after it is because I could hear Stiles beginning to hyperventilate behind me. I flexed my fingers and watched the doorway for a few breaths longer, but I didn't need to go investigate to know that the crash in the living room was from that creature busting through the window.

Which begs the question… how did it get in? And without me knowing?...

There was no time to ponder it, as Stiles wheezed in a shuddering breath behind me and slid to the floor, knocking a framed poster of some obscure band that Isaac likes off the wall. Stiles jumped at the sound and scrambled to the side, his head banging into Isaac's chest of drawers behind him and sending deodorant and cologne sailing to the ground. He whipped the lacrosse stick out to wield it at the poster frame with a shaking arm, as if it were about to get up and attack him, and my fingers tingled with the residual burn of my claws as I held a steady hand out to him and frowned.

"Hey," I breathed, my voice shaking a bit. "You look a little pale there… I guess, you were right about that whole… cliché kids in a scary movie thing."

"What the hell _was_ that?" He whispered fiercely, rushing to the doorframe to peek into the hall. "Is it gone!?"

I quickly yanked him away from the door by the elbow. "I don't know," I said, and he hopped farther away from the door with the lacrosse stick up.

"That thing looked like Dr. Curt Connors took a wrong turn at OSCORP and ended up here." Stiles' face scrunched up and he frowned at me in confusion. My smirk dropped, as I waited for the joke to hit him. "…Oh, come on!" I gestured wildly at Stiles and stomped my foot. "Dr. Connors, took a wrong turn at OSCORP… because he's The Lizard…" Stiles' mouth lifted from its confused frown, a smile playing at his lips. "…Spider-Man…" I lamely added, and he let out a laugh, taking a deep breath.

"You like Spider-Man?" He tilted his head at me.

"Me? No, I hate that guy," I lamely tried, knowing full well that Stiles wouldn't buy it for a second. I pretended to peek in the hall for the creature again, dutifully ignoring Stiles' smug face.

"You know what—you're exactly like Peter Parker."

I reared back in offense and put a hand to my wounded chest. " _Excuse_ you! Take it back!"

"No, really," Stiles grip loosened on the lacrosse stick so he could point at me. "Listen. You're a skinny brunette, who used to be sorta pathetic,"

"I resent that. I was _petite._ Still am! " I crossed my arms and he ignored me as he continued.

"And then you got your powers. Now, you taunt your enemies and you're overly sarcastic—"

"Ah, but I can't crawl up walls." I said with a finger in the air, and Stiles smirked. "That's The Lizard's job."

Stiles went to look out the window, placing his hands on the wall to balance himself as he leaned forward and craned his neck to try and see farther into the yard for any signs of movement. The lacrosse stick had slid behind a framed poster that rested against the wall, and as Stiles inched farther forward, the stick knocked the poster forward. It smacked the ground and shattered, causing Stiles to flinch and me to cover my mouth with a hand so I didn't laugh out loud.

We both stared down at the glass and an awkward moment of silence passed over the room.

"Right. The Lizard did that… he was just too quick to stop, crawling all over his walls, knocking crap down… pesky monsters." I finished, my eyes glinting mischievously as Stiles nodded quickly along with me.

"Spider-Man would've used his web to save the poster from hitting the ground." He added.

I snarled my nose up at him. "Well I'm not Spider-Man!"

"Yeah, you're more like Peter Parker."

My mouth snapped shut with my barely contained fury as I tilted my head at him, eyes wide, and he smugly stared back. I whirled on my heel to leave him behind as I stomped out of the room, grumbling under my breath that I wasn't the hero.

"I feel like we just lived out that fight scene from Aliens vs. Predators." Stiles rambled behind me, as I swept up Isaac's bag and led the way from the room. My eyes still scanned with caution, making sure there would be no surprises waiting for us since The Lizard _did_ slip past me the first time, but nothing came as we emerged from the hallway.

"And what, you're the predator in this scenario?" I asked without turning around. Stiles kept quiet, so I turned to look at him. He was gawking at me.

"You know the scene I'm talking about?"

My eyes widened at his weirdness, and I glanced away briefly as I spoke. "You mean the one where the alien comes crawling down the wall and bares its teeth at the predator, giving its spot away, and then lunges at him?"

His mouth popped open and he held his hands out to me in a dramatic fashion. "Yes!" He exclaimed. "Yes, _thank you!_ Ugh, when I reference things like that with Scott, it's a totally one sided joke."

I smirked and dryly winked at him. "Thank god it's not one sided now." It is. I get the joke, I just don't think it's funny.

He laughed obliviously and nodded as I turned around to walk out of the house. We paused near the door, exchanging a look of unease at the shattered window scattered across the living room.

"The others should know about this." My tone of voice dropped any and all lightheartedness as we stepped into what was now the night. He joined my side and sighed.

"Yeah… But that means you'll have to take me to the rink," Stiles suddenly stiffened and jumped down the steps to put distance between us, "Don't knock me out!"

I couldn't bite back a laugh as I joined him on the sidewalk, holding my hand out to him. He shook his head at me stubbornly and I rolled my eyes before letting his keys jangle, the moonlight reflecting on their silver metal.

His hand was barely a flash as he quickly reached out to snatch them from me, watching me warily. "…Serious?" His eyes were narrowed as he regarded me.

"As a heart attack," I gestured to his jeep, and he watched me for half a beat more before eagerly hopping away to climb into his jeep. I trailed more slowly behind him and slid into the passenger seat, watching as he stroked the dash and cooed at the jeep. I scrunched my face at him in distaste. "Please, get a room, you two." I dryly quipped, and Stiles reached down to grab under the seat, moving it back so that he wasn't so cramped.

"Some _chick_ moved all my stuff," He whined, reaching up to adjust the mirror. I bit back a nasty retort and watched as he rested his hand on the steering wheel, and he froze in confusion. "Wait…" He groaned knowingly. "Really? Savannah? You lowered the steering wheel?"

I snickered, and he continued rambling bitterly as he turned the key in his ignition and pulled away towards the ice rink.

* * *

The ice rink was dark. "Are you sure that they're here?" Stiles asked for the fifth time as I strode confidently through the darkness. "This just feels like a trap. It seems like its closed. Maybe we should check Scott's house—"

"Stiles." I turned to look at him following hesitantly behind me. "Boyd just told Scott that Derek told him about the hunters."

"And he's still taking the bite!?" Stiles' voice was shrill as he quickened his pace to match mine, frowning incredulously at me. "What is it with you people? What part of ancient aristocratic, vigilante, ruthless, secret family of expert assassins of the supernatural says _No Big Deal_ to you!?"

I grinned without humor, the smile never reaching my eyes as I turned to look soberly at his incredulous face. "Boyd's just lucky that Derek even told him about the Argents."

Stiles frown, if anything, deepened, and he actually came to a stop beside me. I came up short to wait for him. His face was pure shock, and something slightly darker, as he slowly said, "Derek didn't tell you about the hunters?... What else didn't he tell you?"

I smiled bitterly. "Wouldn't I like to know." And I grew more and more uncomfortable with the look that Stiles was giving me… it almost seemed like… _concern_ , but that doesn't seem right, as he peered at me through the dark hallway. I stiffened and turned my back to him, quickly finishing the trek to the rink.

I ignored the feeling of Stiles' gaze on the back of my head as I strode into the rink and came to a stop at the wall that separated the ice from the stands, placing my hands on the cement to gaze through the large safety windows and listen as everyone ignored the fact that Stiles and I just crashed their little soiree.

"If it's friends that you want, you can do a _lot_ better than Derek Hale." Scott said to Boyd, who was currently seated on a Zamboni machine. A muscle in Boyd's jaw twitched, but before he could reply, Derek stepped out of the shadows, as he usually does. But this time, Isaac and Erica flanked him. I tilted my head, feeling a surge of derision at the sight of all my pack members being present and accounted for. Minus me.

"Oh, come on, Scott. If you're going to review me, at least take a consensus," Derek cockily turned to look at Isaac and Erica behind him. "Erica? How would you describe your life since you've met me?"

Erica, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders in waves, sauntered forward to smirk at Scott and Boyd. "In a word… _transformative._ " She bared her teeth at them.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, leaning over to whisper at Stiles. "About ninety percent of that transformation happens every morning, involves a lot of beauty products, and takes about two hours before she's finished." Stiles raised an eyebrow at me and I shrugged a shoulder at him. "Just sayin'."

"Isaac?" Derek turned to look at my packmate, and I tightened my grip on the strap of his bag as he answered.

"Well, I'm a little bummed about being a fugitive… but other than that it's been great." Isaac brought his hands together and I winced at how backwards that sounded. While it's true that Isaac is better off, in my opinion, to be free of his father… something about the fact that he was grateful to Derek, if only in some small way, for being a fugitive seems—wrong to me. It was the first time that it had occurred to me that I should have an issue with it.

I shifted uncomfortably on my heels and waited for Derek to call my name.

"Okay, hold on," Scott said. "This isn't a fair fight."

"That's just what I was going to say," Stiles quickly moved towards the door of the ice rink, but I latched onto his shoulder and dragged him back.

"Can you believe that jackass?" I seethed, my temper rising in my chest quickly. "He didn't even ask me!"

"Is this the part where you ask if you're chopped liver?" Stiles dryly quipped, trying to squirm out of my grasp.

"Shut up." I snapped.

He smirked and finally stopped struggling. "If you're so tired of the way Derek neglects you, then _leave._ "

I clamped my mouth shut and Derek's head whipped around, his eyes flashing red as he locked gazes with me. It seemed as if he was waiting for my response. I let myself feel all of the anger, the growing distrust, and even some of the hurt that spurred from his continuing to leave me out.

I clenched my jaw and looked back at Stiles. "We've been over this, Stiles." I ignored the feeling of Derek's eyes burning holes in the side of my face as I finished. "I can't abandon him after all he's done for me."

Stiles groaned and threw his hands up in exasperation. "Okay, you keep saying that, and I guess I've gotta be the one to point it out." He turned to look me in the face. "Derek doesn't care about you. He doesn't care about _any_ of you, if you haven't noticed. All he's doing is trying to keep you guys alive, so that he has a pack, so that he has _power,_ so that he can take on the Argents. Look, he's not even worried about this _conversation_ right now!" Stiles pointed out to the ice, where Derek was watching Scott pulverize our newest pack members. "He's watching your packmates get torn to shreds!"

I think I must've responded to his speech a little differently than he had intended. While his words did soak in past my wall that I threw up, I still turned away from him to stomp purposefully onto the ice. The door smacked against the wall of the rink with a resounding crack, and everyone on the ice paused in their weird battle to look at me.

"Oh," I smartly pretended to be surprised that they all dropped what they were doing to finally acknowledge me. "Don't mind me. Please, continue with losing your little power struggle, guys. It's fun and not at all embarrassing to watch."

The bag weighed heavily on my shoulder as I stomped right past all of them and stopped in front of Boyd.

"Hey there, Boyd-o." I popped my lips and let Isaac's bag fall thud on the ice next to me. "You're looking... sweaty."

He rolled his eyes at me. "Don't tell me you're a part of this, too," His voice was tainted with distaste.

I scoffed and turned my head slowly, until I locked eyes with Derek. Sending him the most venomous glare I could muster, I forced some of my temper down before turning back to Boyd, rolling my jaw. "Are you saying they didn't even tell you I was a part of the pack?"

"They didn't mention you at all." He ground out.

I threw my hands out in disbelief and rounded on my pack members, who slowly picked themselves off the ice to awkwardly avoid my glare. "What the _hell_ , you guys!" I shrilly exclaimed.

"It just—seemed counterproductive, given your history," Isaac tried, and I resisted the urge to stomp my foot.

"Anyways," I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Unclench, Boyd. You know why I didn't want to recruit you?" He scoffed through his nose, but shrugged a shoulder and shook his head. "Because you're too good for this."

Boyd blinked in surprise and frowned slightly at me. "What?"

"You don't _need_ this, Boyd. You think that you're some outcast that nobody likes, and that's not true."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow at me.

"Well, the kids at school, maybe. But not all of them! Boyd," I stepped closer, resting my hand on his leg. "Don't do this. Whatever they told you to make you take the bite… it's not true. It's not like we're superheroes, or suddenly really cool and now everyone at school wants to be our friend."

"Funny." Boyd jerked a chin at Erica. "She seemed pretty cool the other day when she came back to school."

"It's not _fun,_ Boyd. It's _terrifying_. You have no control over yourself. It's like, something else takes over, and you're so angry, and all you want to do is hurt people. Hurt _anything,_ Boyd, it's not human! Which should be obvious, but believe me, you'll never know what I mean unless you experience it firsthand. You think taking the bite is going to change you for the better. You think it's going to make you stronger, get you friends, make you noticeable. In reality, all it does is isolate you even more—because you can't ever get close to someone again without risking them finding out about what you are, and I don't think you realize this—not everyone will be accepting and think you're cool for it. You've got to worry about the full moon every month, you've got to lock yourself away, and if you're lucky enough to be lucid, you're going to have to spend every waking moment of that night fighting back the urge to rip into someone and feel their blood on your hands.

"You'll gain a lot of things, like strength and heightened senses. Better to hear the whispers you see those kids at school _everyday_ doing, behind their hands, and before you thought you'd wanna know what they were saying, just so you could get back at them. But you don't— _trust_ me, you don't. And when you do find out, it'll be all you can do not to attack them right on sight. Except you can't, because if you start, you don't know if you'll be able to stop, and they'd never stand a chance."

The ice rink was dead quiet. Everyone was gawking at me, their mouths slightly agape… except Scott, who watched me knowingly, and Derek, who had his arms crossed and his jaw clenched. I looked back to Boyd. "And that's if you're strong enough to survive at all."

Boyd's face had shed its contempt for me, morphing into a surprised dread as he looked down at his sneakers. "Is… is that true?" He asked. "All of what she said. Is that what it's going to be like?"

"Yes." Scott stepped forward to stand next to me. "She's right, Boyd. And you don't need _any_ of it."

Boyd hung his head as he stepped down from the Zamboni, coming to a stop just in front of me. I opened my mouth to comment further, to try and offer some form of consolation, when he lifted his shirt and revealed a circle of angry red, bleeding dots on his hip.

* * *

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	18. Said The Man to the Devil

"I don't care." Boyd declared, his jaw tight. His eyes were impossible to read, and as Scott stepped away in exasperation, I narrowed my eyes at Boyd and wondered if he was trying to convince us, or himself. "I'm finally going to stand out. Thanks to this," He gestured down at his bite. "I won't have to live life on the sidelines anymore, or clean the field for the real stars," He turned to look at the Zamboni with disgust evident on his face.

I shook my head and looked down at my hands, where I had clenched them together. I felt eyes on me, and looked up to see Derek staring at me with a look that promised we weren't finished here. Somehow, I knew that he would want to talk about the little speech I just gave Boyd, and if I felt like I wasted my breath before—now I feel like I just dug my own grave.

Resentment flooded my body, seeping into my muscles and pouring through every vein. No matter how hard I try—even when I know it's the right thing to do, even when I'm stepping out of my comfort zone to try and help a friend… Derek finds some kind of fault in it, and then he punishes me by excluding me.

Fuck it. "Well," I suddenly spoke up, drawing the attention of Scott from where he was about to step out of the rink. Stiles looked in through the protective windows, too, where he had been waiting for Scott anxiously, as if he wanted to tell him something. "I didn't just come here to try and convince a _naïve_ , desperate kid from ruining his life," I shot Boyd a dirty look, which he gladly returned. Derek's jaw clenched and I could smell a dash of anger rolling from him, towards me, in waves. The corner of my mouth tugged up in grim satisfaction. _Good._

"While my pack was busy holding Boyd-o here down so Derek could sink his teeth into his hip, Stiles and I were on a little adventure of our own. Weren't we, Stiles?" I feigned a smile at him and tilted my head.

He shrugged a single shoulder and glanced around the rink, causing me to genuinely smile at his nervous tick. He had joined the rest of us on the ice during my introduction. "We saw something," He confirmed with a nod. "Something… bad." When the others just simply gawked at us with a mixture of blankness and indifference, I looked at Stiles and nodded as he finished. " _Supernatural_ bad," he finished. This seemed to get their attention. Derek straightened slightly and turned to address me.

"Isaac," I turned away from Derek and focused on my favorite pack member, striding closer to him so I could pick up the bag that still laid some ways away from the Zamboni machine. "I don't know if this matters to you anymore, but you've got a serious infestation problem in your home."

He frowned at me and watched as I approached him, his black bag slung over my shoulder. "Is that my lacrosse bag?"

I pursed my lips dryly. "So it doesn't matter to you… fair enough. But you should know that when I say infestation, I'm talking giant lizard—" I trailed off and leaned back to gaze at Stiles over my shoulder, "I think it's fair to call it a Lizard- _Man_ hybrid, wouldn't you?"

"I thought we decided to call it The Lizard. Like the character from Spider-Man." Stiles amended, and I raised my hand to wave him off.

"Right, right, you're right! We did sort of decide that, didn't we? It's really the best way to describe it, have you seen the movie? Read the comics? If not, I have several other movie references that might help you all picture what it was we ran into. Or, what ran into us, rather," I glanced back at Stiles and shrugged as he nodded to confirm my story.

"Ran into us…" He corroborated.

"Right." I turned back to Isaac and continued to ignore Derek, who was practically bursting at the seams with the need to interject. "Does the phrase 'Humanoids from the Deep' mean anything to you?"

"Okay," Derek finally interrupted. "We get it. It was a giant lizard hybrid, and you found it in Isaac's home. Make your point; what happened?"

"No, no," I insolently corrected, shooting Derek a venomous glare. " _Try_ to keep up, would you? _The Lizard_ ran into _us._ "

"What were you even doing in Isaac's house?" Scott asked.

"Oh, right," I looked at Isaac and flung his bag at him, and he caught it at his chest without missing a beat. "You're welcome."

"Thanks a heap," He said flatly, "but I don't think I'm gonna be needing my lacrosse gear," He frowned at me slightly before peeking into the bag and clamping his mouth shut upon seeing the contents. "You got me clean clothes?"

I cleared my throat and shifted awkwardly. "So anyway, there we were, doing our good deed for the year," The others exchanged looks of mild amusement as I continued, "And here comes Gill-Man. Except he's a lot skinnier, has no nose, and he's got these eyes that are just…" I shuddered.

"And he's got a tail," Stiles added, gesturing to his butt. I pointed at him and nodded.

"Well, he's got these teeth…" I gestured to my mouth and shook my head stiffly. "It's something else, and it might sound like a creature straight from those cheesy black and white horror films… But it's dangerous." I finally turned to Derek with a serious expression. "That thing _reeks_ of murder."

"So what happened?" Erica spoke up. "If this thing is so awful, how come Stiles doesn't have a scratch on him?"

"Hello?" I snapped, jabbing a thumb into my chest. "I was right there! As if I was going to let some Lizard Freak eat Stilinski, Erica—a little credit, please,"

"I had no idea you were so… heroic." She smugly crossed her arms at me with a sneer.

"Don't pretend to know me, Barbie," I snapped.

"Alright, alright," Derek finally interrupted. "Let's focus, we don't have time for that. What are you saying? This thing is dangerous?" My eyes widened at his obtuse question, and I glanced over to Stiles as if to silently scream _Do you see what I'm dealing with_ , drawing a smirk he had to bite back, before looking back at Derek and nodding slowly. "Dangerous enough to be what killed Isaac's dad?"

"Well, it would explain why it was in his house," Scott added.

"Yes," I confirmed. "It's also the thing that tracked me that night with…" I hesitated, glancing at Scott. Stiles saw my hesitation and nodded encouragingly. I clenched my jaw slightly before grudgingly continuing. "The Argents." I finished, my voice flat.

Derek, if he picked up that little interaction at all, made no outward indication that he had done so, as he strode for the exit. "We've gotta find this thing."

"What— _now?_ " Isaac frowned, his hand tightening on the strap of his bag.

"As soon as possible." Derek vaguely replied, and led the way out of the rink without looking to make sure we followed him.

"Why?" Scott called to him.

I exchanged a glance of dread with Isaac, watching as he hurried to follow Erica after our alpha, and I made eye contact with Boyd. He paused in front of me on his way to following Derek, and I pressed my mouth into a line.

"Looks like DerBear didn't tell you everything, after all." I raised an eyebrow at him, and he shook his head slowly.

"No… Giant lizard hybrids weren't apart of the hunters he told me about." Boyd shoved his hands in his pockets and I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

"Yeah, well get used to that. He likes the drama of it all. In fact, I'm beginning to think he lives for it…"

"It's a small price to pay for a spot at the front of the crowd," Boyd said as he backed away from me and towards where Derek had led our pack.

"Said the man to the devil," I dryly quipped. "Though, to be accurate, you bought a spot on stage—not in the crowd. And guess what? You perform when he says, for as long as he says. You traded in your mundane freedom for…" I trailed off and smiled, but my words didn't seem to make a difference to him and he turned away from me to step out of the rink.

I glanced back at Scott and Stiles, where they were watching me with similar expressions of understanding. "You're wrong, ya know." Scott told me. I raised my eyebrows at him. "You can step off the stage any time you want."

I sighed through my nose and rubbed at it, backing away to follow Derek. "Not today, boys." I gave them a final glance before following my pack.

* * *

I stepped into the warehouse, the last one to arrive, and found Boyd seated on the steps. Erica and Isaac lingered with Derek outside the cart, and they all looked up at me as I made my way down the steps. I paused next to Boyd and opened my mouth to comment to him, but Derek locked gazes with me and jerked his head toward the cart before turning away to duck inside.

"That's your cue." Boyd said below me. I looked down at him and clenched my jaw tightly, choosing not to comment as I grudgingly stomped down the stairs to go receive my ten lashings. Isaac watched me pass with his arms crossed.

"Break a leg," He jibed, which is all I needed to know that they had all heard everything I said to Boyd, about performing on stage and everything else. And that probably means they heard my little exchange with Scott and Stiles, as well. I ground my teeth together and ducked into the cart without a word.

Derek was sitting on one of the cracked leather seats, his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers steeped as he gazed at me from the side. "It seems like you've had a change of heart about this whole thing…" He started, his eyes reflecting faintly red in the dark.

I have to admit, I was surprised to find that he wasn't lurking theatrically in one of the dark corners of the cart, and I slowly made my way to sit across from him as I responded. "I'm acclimating. And as it so happens, any part of what I'm finding that gives me pause is a direct result of things _you_ send me to do."

"So it's Stiles and Scott, then." He sat back and peered down his nose at me.

"It's what they're willing to tell me that you've apparently chosen to leave out, for whatever reason. It's all the shit that you're just _choosing_ to overlook. And don't pretend these things are minor details, Derek, these things are _important_. It's not fair of you to keep them from me! Hunters? You made no mention of them! I had to find that on my own when I ran into Chris Argent. Never mind the fact that I'm in school with one of them… Something happened with the Argents. Or, maybe a lot of things, I don't know—no one will tell me!"

"Why don't you bring up what's _really_ bothering you?" Derek tilted his head at me and crossed his arms.

Anger bubbled in my chest, as he dodged the issue once again.

"Why don't _you_ tell me what you think is bothering me?" I mimicked his pose and tilted my head at him. "Clearly you've got something in mind."

"Your little speech to Boyd." He shrugged his shoulders. "You didn't have an issue with Isaac... You _recommended_ Erica. What's the problem with Boyd? Is it your history with him?"

"Don't throw that in my face," I snapped, lurching to my feet. "That's none of your business, but as a matter of fact, that _does_ have a little to do with it! You know me, Derek! Or you claim to. Which means you should know I'm not so cold that I don't have any reservations about Boyd." I stepped closer to him, jabbing my finger in my air to drive my point home. "When I took the bite, it was to get me clean. It got me off the streets too, which was just a bonus. Isaac needed to get away from his dad. We both know that, he knows that—Erica was _sick_ , and now she's not." Derek's jaw clenched, but before he could interrupt, I forged ahead. "Boyd?" I leaned down slightly to look in his face. "Boyd has no issues, other than loneliness. He was—fine! He didn't need this. He had a _job_. He was _safe_. He's just a kid who has a point to prove, I tried to warn you, Derek, and you ignored me. You got _greedy_. He's going to treat this like it's a game. Desperate high school kids like me, Erica, and Isaac? We make damn good foot soldiers for you. But Boyd—" I shook my head and stepped away. "He's just different. I tried to tell you, and you ignored me. But you'll regret that. Someday, you'll regret that."

Derek rose to his full height, towering over me as he looked down at my face. "Are you going to be around to say I told you so?"

A muscle in my jaw twitched, and I locked my gaze on his green ones. "Are you saying I have a choice?"

He watched me, something flickering in his eyes. But it was gone as soon as it appeared. "…You never asked me. How could you have a choice if you never even said a word to me?"

"I'm asking now!" I snapped.

"I can't control you," He backed away half a step, putting some distance between us.

"I thought that was the whole point." I raised an eyebrow at him. "You're the _alpha_ , right?"

"What do you _want?_ "

"I want you to be honest with me, damn it!" I turned away to start pacing. "I told you, how many times do I have to say it? Honesty is—"

"How can I be honest with you if I can't _trust_ you?" Derek frowned at me, and I don't think he realized the impact that his words had.

Outrage, first of all, because who is _he_ to stand there and preach to me about trust? And second of all, hurt, frustration, and helplessness because I've done everything I know how to make him trust me. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to yell, to try anything I could to hurt him back, but as I stood there and saw his face—as guarded as ever… the only thing I could manage was, "I guess we've reached an impasse, then."

He watched me, his mind visibly racing. But he was outwardly silent, something that I don't think will ever change, and as usual, his thoughts were left a mystery to me, as all he said was, "I guess so."

* * *

I leaned against a wall and watched as, for the tenth time in a row, Isaac ran through the obstacle course Derek had set up some time ago for me. And like me, it seemed like no matter what he tried, Derek saw it coming a mile away. This time would prove no different, as he caught Isaac's chest when he ricocheted from a pole and tried to attack Derek from the side.

"Can someone _please_ , try something that's not completely predictable for a change?" Derek growled, pacing in his tank top that wasn't even tainted with sweat. At least when I ran the course, I had made him work a little harder to deflect me… although, my ending was a lot more pathetic than Isaac's, as I had finally given up and lain face down to pant into the cement.

Suddenly, Erica soared down from the top of the cart and landed on Derek, who caught her around the bottom of her thighs. He held her up as she wrapped her legs around his hips and latched her arms around his neck, bringing her head down to crash her lips against his hungrily, almost animalistic in her forwardness.

Disgust rolled in my stomach. My eyebrows shot up and I looked at Boyd. "Well, I for one did not see that coming," I pointed at the two of them as she deepened the kiss and Derek's eyebrows knit together. "Careful," I called to him as I swallowed back the sickness that rolled through my stomach. "You might get some of her makeup around your mouth."

And just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. He threw her into the floor in rage and swiping disgustedly at his mouth, causing me to snicker because I wondered if it was from what she did, or from what I had just said. "Don't do that again," He darkly commanded her, still wiping at his mouth as he stepped away from her.

"Why?" she panted on the ground, near a cautiously surprised Isaac. "Is it because I'm a beta?"

I snorted. "No," I asserted, pushing away from the wall to join the rest of them. "It's because you're _underage_."

"You're just _jealous_ ," She hissed defensively.

"Hah!" I barked out. "This should be good,"

"You're jealous because you don't have him to yourself anymore!" Erica flipped her hair over her shoulder and smirked cockily up at me. "And now someone hotter than you has come along to steal your thunder."

"Oh, my god," I looked down in horror at Isaac, my lip scrunched in distaste. "Is she for real?"

"None of you are taking this seriously." Derek thundered, pacing back and forth with fury evident in his eyes.

"You know, Derek, I think you might've taken the tip I gave you… um, about using sex to persuade her to take the bite? Yeah, you might've taken that too seriously. Now she's deluded into thinking you _actually_ want her," I stage whispered behind my hand, pointing back at Erica.

Erica opened her mouth to snap back, but Isaac interrupted. "Are we done here?" He winced, gingerly sitting up. "I've got about a _hundred_ broken bones that need healed."

I looked down to him in concern, but before I could so much as step toward him, Derek stepped forward and took him by the wrist.

"Here?" He asked. Isaac nodded, and as I watched Derek gently holding his injured wrist in his hands, I wondered if maybe I had judged the man too quickly.

But then his grip tightened. I leapt forward and latched onto Derek's shoulder to try and haul him away, but I was a breath too late as he twisted Isaac's wrist and broke it again. "Hundred and one!" Derek seethed, roughly brushing my hand off his shoulder as he stood to loom menacingly over a writhing Isaac. "You think I'm training you to fight? I'm not! I'm training you to _survive_. That thing that killed your dad is still out there, and it's caught your scents! Or, at least one of you," He paused to glare at me pointedly. "Which means I need to train you all to be able to do everything I can do. As fast as I can."

I bit back a nasty retort and crouched in front of Isaac, ignoring Derek as he stepped into the cart behind us.

"Hey, slick," I reached down to haul Isaac up by his armpits. "Let's go try to set some of those. Wouldn't want your bones to heal out of place, now would we?"

He turned his wide eyes away from Derek to gawk at me. "You want to _what_?"

I barked out a laugh and slid my arm under his to help him limp towards the steps. "Don't be such a wuss… It's like ripping a bandage off. Only hurts for a second."

"That's a lie," Boyd not so helpfully interjected from where he was already seated on the steps. I scowled at him and flapped my hand out him to tell him to move out of the way.

"Hey, Vernon. Bet you're having second thoughts about it all right about now, huh?" I bit back, and lowered Isaac to the steps gently. "Alright. Try not to scream too loud."

"H-How did you find out my first name!?" Boyd stuttered behind me, which I dutifully ignored as I took Isaac's wrist in my hand.

"On three, okay?" I locked eyes with Isaac, who looked back at me with bulging eyes that flashed yellow with fear and anticipation. He nodded and opened his mouth to say okay, and I twisted his wrist around hard enough to hear a crack.

Isaac yelped in pain and squeezed his glowing yellow eyes shut, gritting his protruding canines through the pain. He was starting to shift, the pain was so intense, but to me that just means that his healing is about to speed up. Which means I needed to work faster.

"What happened to three?!" He shrilly grunted.

"I lied." I simply stated, gripping his shin. "Brace yourself," I warned, before quickly snapping his leg back into place. He howled in pain again, gripping onto my shoulder tightly. I felt it pop and I bit my lip to keep from shouting as hot pain raced along my arm. "Ugh, try the steps or railing," I tightly suggested, my own eyes flashing blue. "I'm gonna need all my joints in tact if I'm going to help you."

"Are you leaving?" Isaac suddenly asked, loosening his grip on my shoulder so that he was just lightly gripping it. I froze and looked up to meet his gaze.

"What?" I breathed. "Why would you ask that?"

He grunted in pain as I popped another bone into place. "Y-You were pretty vague when you and Derek argued earlier, so I just…" He trailed off, looking down at the steps. "I was wondering."

I pressed my lips together. "It's the last thing I want." I finally said, twisting the final bone into place.

He was able to bite back his reaction this time, leaning back to puff out a heavy sigh. Panting, he watched me as I moved to seat myself next to him.

I looked out to see Erica and Boyd chatting about something, Derek still apparently plotting, or whatever it is he does in the cart alone. "I just…" I brushed my knees off. "I don't know what to do anymore."

Isaac laid his cheek on his shoulder to peer at me, his entire face exhausted. "Well, I would really miss you if you left." My eyes widened slightly and a cautious grin played at my lips. "I mean, who else is going to think of something like grabbing me a clean change of clothes? Or put Derek in his place?"

I jokingly winced, tilting my head back and forth. "It's true. Erica is too self-absorbed, and Boyd… Well, so is he."

"You're different that I thought you'd be." Isaac stated matter-of-factly. I raised an eyebrow at him. He mysteriously shrugged a shoulder at me. "You just are."

"I'm not going anywhere yet, slick." I patted his knee and leaned back. "You're stuck with me."

* * *

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	19. Gesundheit!

It's not often that I find myself inclined to… share my feelings with other people. That's probably not a big surprise to you; therapy makes me feel somewhat— _trapped_. Which is why I'm currently squirming in a chair outside my guidance counselor's office, trying to distract myself with the cheesy posters I see.

I restlessly threw myself back into the chair and tried to sit still. The clock above me ticked so loud, I could hear the gears inside turning as it moved the hands… whir, punch, click. Whir, punch, click. Whir, punch—

I reached over to thumb through the brochures, briefly scanning them as I went. They where whimsically colored, and said things like "Get The Word Out! – Speech Therapy Techniques" and "Looking For Options? You're Not Alone", or, my favorite, "Dealing With Excessive Sleeping". I picked that one out and began to flip through, giggling at some of its contents, when the overpowering scent of jasmine assaulted my now overly sensitive nostrils and gave me an instant headache.

I huffed and scrubbed at my nose, trying to stifle a sneeze as none other than Lydia Martin graced the waiting room. Her outfit was… in a word, meticulous, and absolutely standard to her usual look. She paused in the doorway to pinch her mouth and scan the seats with a perfectly plucked eyebrow cocked, her gaze snagging only briefly on the grease stain that is me in the backdrop to her self-absorbed-world.

Lydia hummed thoughtfully to herself and strode past me without sparing me a second glance. She had her purse hanging from her elbow, and her wrist was upturned in a permanent diva position as she strut over to a seat at the end of my row and settled herself in with a magazine. But that's not what made me hesitate.

Not even the fact that Lydia Martin was waiting to talk to the school counselor tripped me up. It was the red leather gloves she wore over her hands. Usually, she likes to display the manicure on her nails for everyone to see, so the fact that she's covered them catches my attention—but it's the blood I can smell underneath that keeps it. I slowly lowered the brochure to my lap and studied the girl sitting six seats down from me, sighing softly to herself as she clicked her tongue at something on one of the pages of her magazine.

I watched her paw through for a few seconds. What could have happened to Lydia that was bad enough to make her seek help in the school's guidance office? And worse than that, left her with bloodied knuckles?

She glanced up at the clock fitfully, and when she went to turn her attention back down to the magazine, she saw me watching her and did a double take. Her eyes were wide and her face silently asked, none too politely, if I had a staring problem. I blinked back at her and tilted my head.

Her eyes narrowed and she closed the magazine in her hand. "…Can I help you?" She finally said.

I pursed my lips. "I doubt it."

Lydia's eye twitched. "Then why are you staring at me?"

"I'm just wondering how you keep your hair from frizzing."

I watched as her red gloved hand came up to smooth one of her auburn curls, and she shifted in her seat to look at me from the corner of her eye. "Kérastase."

"Gesundheit."

She frowned, her lips twitching briefly in amusement—nothing but a flash on her face, like the brief streak of a falling star in the night sky, and it was gone. "No, Kérastase… It's a brand of shampoo."

"Of course it is," I nodded, and she simply continued to watch me, watching her.

"Have we met?" She narrowed her eyes at me.

"Oh, several times, in fact." I flipped my own black hair through my fingers and propped my chin on my fist. "In junior high, you gave me your coat at a school dance and thanked me in Spanish because you thought I was working there as a caterer. Even though I'm the same age as you." Her cheeks flamed pink. "I never went to another dance. After that, I tried to keep my distance from you, but you dropped change into my coffee one morning on the way into school because you thought I was homeless."

I sat back in my chair and peered at her, waiting for her reaction. Lydia opened her mouth to reply, but I suddenly sat back up, "Oh, and we also did a few partner projects in classes before."

She tilted her head at me. "Aren't you?" She simply asked, narrowing her eyes at me.

"Aren't I what?" I rubbed my nose.

"Homeless."

I froze, looking back at her with a carefully blank, but mildly amused expression. It seems strange that she would know something like that, given that the only interactions we'd had, I had just described. She's always seemed—at the surface, at least—to be too self absorbed to notice anyone else's situation. And although my homelessness wasn't exactly a secret, it also doesn't seem like something that would be on Lydia's radar.

"Lydia," We both turned to see a woman with sleek black hair leaning out of the guidance counselor's office. She had a face that was younger than I had anticipated, early to mid twenties, and she offered both of us a gentle smile. "If you're ready?"

Lydia was already out of her seat and walking past me, dutifully ignoring me as she passed.

"Wha-" I stuttered, shifting in disbelief. "I've been waiting for fifteen minutes—"

The door closed behind them. I seethed in my seat and looked back up the clock. I can honestly say that I'd rather be anywhere but here right now. I looked back up at the clock, seeing that it had been forty-two seconds since they closed the door on me. The chair's cushion sighed as I leapt up and stomped out of the waiting room.

Screw that.

The halls were filled with passing students. They went from their lockers to class, sometimes stopping in between to gossip, but I did notice a few guys looking me up and down who used to completely look through me like I didn't exist. I rolled my shoulders back and smirked, deciding that _this_ feeling is better than whatever I would be experiencing in therapy with Ms. Fresh Out Of College.

I turned the corner and started walking down the stairs to return to the first floor. I froze upon spotting Scott and Stiles seated at the bottom of the steps, taking up the nearly the whole path as they talked in low voices. A girl with a plaid skirt and black tights struggled to squeeze her Doc Martens around the pair, rolling her eyes to herself as she continued up the stairs. Ducking around the corner again, I waited and decided to eavesdrop a bit as my two favorite classmates chatted.

"…I'm so sorry about the other day," Stiles said in a peculiar tone of voice. It was light, but he sounded a bit like he was reading lines from a book, though I knew that his hands were empty. "I'm trying… We'll get through this—uh, I know, because I love you—" And with that last part, his voice went high and told me that he was extremely uncomfortable with what he was saying. I bit my knuckle to keep from laughing out loud as he continued. "I love you more than— _oh, my god_! I can't—uh, you and Allison just have to find a better way to communicate!"

"Come on!" Scott pled. "You're the only one that we can trust, is she coming to the game tonight?"

"Yes," Stiles confirmed. "Okay? Message complete."

Suddenly, that entire interaction started to make a _lot_ more sense. Scott and Allison were using Stiles as a messenger… I wondered why they couldn't just talk directly to each other. Did they need to keep their relationship a secret? Just as I started to come back around the corner to ask Scott for myself, Stiles told Scott to 'tell him about his boss.'

I raised an eyebrow and froze right where I was.

"He thinks that Allison's family keeps… like, a written journal that records everything they've hunted. Like a book, or something." I frowned, puzzled as to what that could mean.

Stiles clapped his hand excitedly, "A bestiary!" He exclaimed.

"I think you mean bestiality," Scott snickered, and I scrunched my face up.

"…no," Stiles voice dropped an octave with irritation. "Pretty sure I don't. It's a bestiary, like an encyclopedia of mythical creatures."

"Why am I the only one who doesn't know about this crap?" Scott groaned, as I heard them gathering themselves to stand. I glanced quickly around the hall, frantically searching for a place to hide. As they came up the steps, I skidded to a stop outside the janitor's closet and turned the knob until the lock broke before throwing myself inside just as Scott passed by. Stiles had split up from him.

I tilted my head and stretched my hearing to follow Stiles through the halls. He passed the cafeteria and kept going… out to the—courtyard? Usually, no one goes out there unless it's me. I frowned until I heard him speak. He began explaining what he figured out to someone, mentioning the word bestiary again. It all came together when I heard Allison laugh at him and try to correct him, only for him to snap at her that he knew what he meant. She told him that she'd seen her grandfather with something similar, and no sooner had the words left her mouth, than Stiles was off again.

I listened as his heart thudded heavily in his chest when he broke into a sprint, bursting through the courtyard door and back through the school. His shoes squeaked on the waxed floors as he quickly dodged students and teachers, ignoring everyone until he finally caught up to Scott on the second story, about two halls away from me now. "Yes," He panted. "Seen her grandfather…with a book like that." He finished with an exasperated huff and his heart was still working overtime.

Scott told him to ask her where he kept the book. I raised my eyebrows and mentally told Scott to fuck off and ask her himself, but Stiles only growled slightly to himself before turning to go run back down the hallway.

I scoffed and tilted my head. I don't know what made me sympathetically pissed off more: the fact that Scott and Allison expect Stiles to do their bidding, or the fact that Stiles is willing to do it… Obviously, he's being used by them, even if none of them see it that way. It's similar to what Derek does to me—actually, no. It's the exact same. In fact, it's what I'm doing _right_ now, hiding out in a janitor's closet, right next to a molding bucket of slushy, grimy water, with a nasty mop submerged and waiting. Derek had tasked me with tailing the Dream Team today. It was my job to shadow them and make sure that we knew everything they knew, all while remaining undetected.

Anger simmered in my chest. Stiles is too good to be an errand boy, and I'm sick of feeling like I'm invisible.

I threw the janitor's closet door open and marched through the hallway. Kids looked at me strangely when they saw me emerge from the closet like I had been tasked with a mission from God himself, but I ignored that and followed my nose.

Stopping right next to Scott and leaning against a locker, my hand flashed out as I slammed his shut.

Scott whirled on me with an annoyed expression.

"Savannah! What are you doing? I wasn't done!" He frowned. I raised an eyebrow. "What do you want? Or should I say, what does Derek want?"

I crossed my arms and tilted my head at him as he pulled the strap of his backpack farther up his shoulder. He hadn't even gotten the opportunity to put it away before I slammed it shut. "Allison seems to think that the bestiary could be in her grandfather's office."

Scott's annoyed expression wiped from his face so quickly, it probably gave him whiplash. He leapt forward to shush me and looked around wildly. "Lower your voice!" He hissed.

"Oh, sure, because so many of these kids know what a bestiary is," I batted his hand away and he huffed at me.

"That's not the point!"

"You're right, the point is, if you wanted to communicate with Allison without anyone else knowing, all you had to do is ask." I smiled with mocking politeness and shrugged a shoulder.

"I can't trust you," Scott frowned.

" _Why_ is everyone saying that to me lately?" I snapped. "Scott, you can trust me on this—whether or not you and Allison are dating is the last thing on Derek's list of Stuff To Worry About."

"Right, but the Argents' having an encyclopedia of supernatural creatures would probably be near the top." His hand flapped out to emphasize his point.

"Um, actually, you're probably wrong again." Scott frowned at me in confusion, ready to argue, but I mowed over him. "Knock knock!"

Scott blinked at me. "…What?"

"Knock knock," I simply said back. He squinted at me and started to say something else, but I stepped forward and lowered my voice. "Knock, knock, Scott."

"….Who's there." He flatly asked.

"This is your logic speaking, Scott. I know we don't talk a lot, but I thought I would drop by to point out to you that as a family of supernatural creatures, the Hales probably knew just about everything that the Argents' recorded in their leather bound journal, and then some! So the update that Allison had access to a bestiary would probably, once again, fall pretty low down on Derek's list. He wouldn't care enough to stop you from getting your hands on it if he already knows everything inside it. _But,_ " I stepped forward and "He might be interested to know what you plan to _do_ with the information inside of it."

"That's the same thing!" Scott said.

"Not to Derek," I lifted a finger and pointed at Scott's face. "Because we both know that Derek wants to find The Lizard. And if you're getting the bestiary so you can try and find how to stop The Lizard, _that_ is something he would be interested in."

"So you _are_ here on Derek's behalf!" Scott's voice was accusing and disappointed. I sighed.

"Actually, no. If I was here on Derek's behalf, I wouldn't be… here." Scott blinked dumbly at me. "I'd be hiding around that corner, listening closely to everything Stiles and Allison are saying right now, and then to everything Stiles says to you, and so on, so I could relay it to Derek. But I'm _here_. Talking to you. Did you pick up the part where I would be _inside_ the school, listening to Stiles and Allison talk outside? See, because while I can hear them, they can't hear me. But—" I placed my hands on Scott's shoulders. "If I were to go outside with Allison, I could still hear you in here. So not only could I be the mouthpiece to carry on a conversation between the two of you, sort of like a human cellphone, I could do it without ever having to leave Allison's side outside. Therefore gathering less attention than a—" I eyed Stiles pointedly as he staggered to an exhausted stop next to Scott, wheezing and sweating and struggling to listen to me as I spoke. "Human teenager forced to scale flights of stairs and a maze of hallways again and again just to answer a question."

Stiles scrunched his face up and drew in a ragged breath, sucking fiercely on an inhaler, but too winded to interject. I could tell by the expression on his face that he had something to add, though he couldn't find the breath to do so.

"And why would you do that?" Scott crossed his arms at me. Stiles pointed up at Scott's question and then to my face with a nod.

"Yeah," he wheezed. "That seems out of character for you."

I laughed and touched a hand to my chest. "Ouch," I looked between Scott and Stiles. "Maybe I just want to help you two?"

They stared blankly back at me.

"Alright," I snapped. "Derek doesn't have the best judgment skills, and he certainly has bad plans. So I'm taking the initiative to bridge the gap between us and you. It makes the most sense, it's the fastest way to get it done, and I think it saves _everyone_ a lot of… legwork." I looked pointedly at Stiles for the last part, and he nodded thoughtfully before crossing his arms.

"How do we know we can trust you?" He asked.

"Well, you don't," I paused. "But think of it this way… _I_ could care less if Scott and Allison date," I nodded to Scott, who seemed to acknowledge the obvious truth to that. "And I sure as hell won't be going to the Argents with any information." They both blinked, struggling to find a point to refute. "As for the _secret_ that our classmates can't know…" I smirked and shrugged. "I sort of already know, and I don't want anyone finding out either… and I'd like to find The Lizard just as much as you do, and if we can avoid killing it—then that's what we need to do. Derek isn't interested in being subtle. If I know him, he'll want to use a more… physical approach. Now, let's see, what else? Am I forgetting something?"

"You don't even like us." Stiles frowned.

"Don't flatter yourself," I bit back a smile and glanced between the two of them with a nonchalant shrug. "I don't like anyone."

Stiles held a finger up to me, and I waited with my arms crossed and my foot tapping as they turned away from me murmured to each other (not that I couldn't hear them). They debated for a few moments about what to do, until finally, they turned back.

"If we do this," Scott said, "Derek can't know."

"Obviously," I shrugged.

"And you have to tell us if he's planning to interfere."

"I feel like a mole in the CIA. Or what do they call agents who've gone rogue?"

"A double agent," Stiles nodded, and I laughed and nodded with him.

"Yeah, that!"

Scott looked between us with a weird expression on his face. "Right…" He said slowly, "Anyways, are we agreed? No one can know."

"You have my word." I held my hand up and they exchanged a hesitant look of doubt. "Let's do this."

* * *

 _ **[Stiles and Scott] Red rover, red rover, we call Savannah over.**_


	20. Risky Business

"She's _what_?" Allison Argent's voice hit a high that would make Beyoncé strike a pose. Scott looked around in paranoia, though it was the end of the school day, and we _were_ currently in the least traveled area of the school—the library. I shifted on my feet and snuck a peek at Stiles, who pressed his lips together as Scott struggled to reassure his girlfriend.

"Look, I know it's not ideal. But she makes a really good point. We could use another were—" he broke off and looked around again. "Someone like me on _our_ side for a change."

Allison glanced over at me, and I grinned fakely at her. She sighed and shook her head. "I don't like this." She said to Scott, crossing her arms.

"It's actually pretty ingenious," Stiles interjected. "She won't tell anyone for all the same reasons Scott won't. Not another student, and not your family."

"But why?" Allison turned to me for this question. "Why would you go against Derek?"

"I'm not _going against_ him. I'm taking initiative—not that it's any of your concern why."

Her dark eyebrows shot up, but Scott stepped in before she could comment.

"It makes this whole thing so much easier. She's not on the team, so she can be in the crowd to get the keys. She can break into Gerard's office. She can snoop around, and she can get out before anyone ever finds her there, because she can hear them coming from a mile away—Allison, there is no part of this that _doesn't_ work in our favor," He ran a hand down her arm and took her hand in his, stepping closer to catch her eye. "Trust me on this." Allison visibly deflated, and Stiles and I knew we had just won the argument. I caught him beaming victoriously at me before he remembered who I was and awkwardly cleared his throat, looking down at his feet. I smirked and winked at him before looking back to the cute couple. "Even if you can't trust her yet, trust _me_. This will work."

She sighed and shook her head, shrugging. "Fine," She acquiesced. "But it's risky—" Scott pressed a quick, sweet kiss to her cheek and she smiled in spite of herself. "I've gotta go, Gerard is waiting for me. I've gotta take him to the game tonight."

"Wait, Gerard will be there tonight?" Scott frowned. Allison paused from where she had been backing away from us.

"I know, I tried to throw up an excuse, but if I try too hard it'll look suspicious. There was no way around it. Look, I'll keep him distracted, okay?" She paused and looked at me. "You just don't let us down. Do you know what you're looking for?"

"Yeah, a leather bound book filled with cute little doodles." I nodded. I could smell the annoyance rolling from Allison, but Stiles grabbed my shoulder and hauled me away from the stacks before she could comment.

"Not the most friendly way of putting it," He dryly pointed out.

I shrugged the shoulder he was holding. "Hey, you guys knew what you were getting into when you agreed to this."

"Yeah," He sighed. "We did. But since this was _your_ idea, couldn't you at least _try_ to be more… cordial?"

Before I could respond, Scott joined us.

"Okay, so we've got to go get ready for the game. Are you sure you want to do this?" Scott looked at me seriously.

Stiles dropped his hand from my shoulder and I nodded. "This is the best way to make sure everybody wins. At least this way, we know that we can try to figure out how to stop the thing without killing it."

"Right." They chorused. I scrunched my eyebrows at them.

"Does that happen a lot? Because if so, I might be having second thoughts. If it's a regular occurrence then that's too much bromance for me to handle—"

"It's only happened twice today," Scott waved me off, and I felt my eyes nearly pop out of my head.

"It barely happens," Stiles said over his friend, shaking his head at me. "We're having a weird day."

"Right." I mimicked, though my tone was a little more sardonic than theirs had been.

* * *

The stands were filled with cheering fans, and anxious family members. I let my eyes roll over them and tried to ignore my growling stomach. The popcorn from the concession stand was wafting over to my nose, and I've always been a sucker for popcorn. But I had more important things to worry about, and I was in the prime position; the game was under way.

Allison and Gerard had just sat down. They got here later than I had expected, so they were in a pretty crowded part of the bleachers—and Allison managed to snag a seat on the end. It was all coming together fairly well so far.

The rival team—gifted with the unfortunate name, the Beavers—had a player who was so huge, he seemed to take up most of the field. Call me crazy, but it seems to me like maybe Beacon Hills should be putting more men on this overfed rodent. Maybe if they sent out Danimal, that would distract him—he's tall as a tree, and I'm pretty sure he's willing to share his wood.

I stood and picked my way down the bleachers, slinking casually along with my head ducked slightly, all in an effort to grab less attention. It seemed to work. Everyone's attention was on the field anyway, and I tiptoed along in the shadows of the metal bleachers.

Of course, it's not a high school sports game without children running around unsupervised, and a pair of screaming ten year olds streaked past, one of them stomping my foot. I grit my teeth and resisted the urge to either scold them or chase them down and maim them. Turning my attention back to Allison, I plucked the waiting keys she held out of the air and kept moving toward the concession stands.

I turned slightly to look at Stiles. He was on the bench next to Finstock, which means I would have to wait until the coach was distracted if I was gonna wait on Stiles to join me. "They call him the Obomination," He told Finstock, and I followed their line of vision to the hulking number forty-two.

"Clever," Finstock mused, and I smiled weakly. "Oh, _come on_!" Coach screamed, lurching off the bench to go chew the ref's ear off. Stiles took the opportunity to swivel around on the bench.

His brown eyes flickered over the crowd, pausing when they saw my seat empty. He sat up straighter and his search grew somewhat more panicked. When he spotted me, he relaxed and I nodded once at him.

Stiles looked back to the field, where Finstock was still howling at the referee, and calmly rose from the bench to join me.

When he was close enough, I smirked at him. "What's with the tracksuit?"

"It's a game. If I don't dress out, I have to at least wear the team's tracksuit." He grumbled, the red material of his jacket catching the light in an amusing way.

"You look like a mafia kingpin," I snickered, and he rolled his eyes, though I could smell the amusement on him. We stepped out of the bright lights of the game and into the parking lot. The night was chilled, and I could see my breath as I paused before adding the next part. "… Or Sue Sylvester."

"Oh, shut up," He smirked, and I nudged his shoulder playfully.

"I'm just teasing you, Paris Hilton!" I continued, and he rolled his eyes.

Before he could retort, something in the parking lot caught his eye. I followed his line of vision and saw a powder blue Toyota. Or, more specifically, I saw Lydia Martin for the second time today, in a state I never thought I would see. She was sobbing, her window down, and it was loud enough that if anyone were to walk by, they would hear her. With or without supernatural hearing. Her makeup was soaked and fading fast, and she struggled to muffle the sound of it.

I raised an eyebrow at her, but turned away to continue onto the school. When I didn't sense Stiles beside me anymore I turned to find him heading determinedly toward her car.

"Oh, Stiles!" I whispered after him. "No!"

He ignored me as he stopped by her window, rapping his knuckles against the door.

I turned an impatient eye back to the school. He had the cellphone, and if he wasn't with me when I went to look in the office, Allison and Scott would both have to wait until after the game to know if this entire thing was a waste or not.

Lydia immediately began to roll up her window. "Oh, Lydia, come on!" Stiles desperately insisted, knocking on the window. "What's wrong?!"

Even as an uninvolved bystander I could hear the concern in his voice. I found myself turning to watch as Lydia cried at him to go away, only for him to persist and ask her again. I tilted my head at this guy's tenacity, enthralled by his insistent caring. Something frighteningly close to admiration warmed my heart as he continued.

"I don't need anyone seeing me _cry!_ " Lydia exclaimed, wiping furiously at the mascara tracks on her cheeks. Stiles glanced back to the game and then over his shoulder at me and the school, before leaning closer to speak in a lower tone.

"What? Aw, Lydia," He said, as if she was being totally unreasonable. "Look… You shouldn't care if people see you cry, alright?"

She sniffled and peered up at him through the window hesitantly. "Why?" She squeaked.

"Because—I think you look really beautiful when you cry."

I blinked dumbly. Then I shifted on my feet and blinked again.

If she doesn't roll down that window, I'm so done—

He turned to give me a look that _screamed_ confliction, as the window to her Toyota rolled down. I took a deep breath and cursed myself for what I was about to do, but after what I just saw…

I waved Stiles off and backed up towards the school. He started to interrupt a sputtering Lydia, but I furiously waved him off and pointed at her. "No!" I hissed, though he couldn't hear me. "Stay with her."

His jaw dropped and he looked between Lydia and me until I turned to jog up the steps.

Leaving the pair behind, I fiddled with the keys and tried to figure out which one I should use. I jammed the gold one into the lock, careful not to accidentally use too much strength and force the key into the thing if it doesn't go, which it didn't. So I took up the silver one, the only other one on the ring besides the keychain, and tried again.

The tumbler of the lock shifted into place and I didn't waste another minute before slipping quickly into the school.

The hallways were pitch black. Given my peachy keen sight, I was able to make out a lot more than I would've as only a human, and suddenly became a whole lot more relieved that it was _me_ navigating the dark halls, and not Stiles.

I strode as fast as I could through the school without running. On the off chance of there being a janitor, I don't want to attract their attention, so I made sure to muffle my footsteps on the waxed floors the best that I could.

I rolled to a stop outside the principal's office—Gerard's office—and help up the golden key. Taking a deep breath, I gingerly inserted it into the lock, and sagged in relief when it slid in without resistance. I stepped into the office and looked around.

There was his desk, and a few filing cabinets. If I were an old hunter, where would I keep a family bestial?

Honestly, probably not locked in a room that's in a publically accessible building crawling with potential werewolves. But I had to look, so I set about with the obvious choice first—his desk.

The drawers were filled with typical things, like pens, sticky-note pads, white-out, calculators, staplers, paper clips… mundane office supplies, to be sure, but not a single trace of an old book.

I opened the bottom drawer and pawed through the files. It was all total gibberish to me, and definitely wasn't what I was looking for, so I moved on rather quickly.

The filing cabinets were my next best bet. I rose from where I had been kneeling in front of the desk and froze.

I smelled… Cedar wood and smoke. My heart picked up speed as I hit the ground again and peered through the doorway. I could hear footsteps echoing in the hall, though they were admittedly quicker than I would expect Derek's to be—but then a flash of red polyester caught my eye, and I let out a huge sigh of relief.

"Oh," I breathed upon seeing Stiles' slightly out of breath face. "It's just you…"

He frowned. "Couldn't you tell?"

"I—I must be paranoid," I turned my attention back to the filing cabinets and waved him over. "This is not exactly how I saw my night going."

Stiles joined me by the filing cabinets and started to help me dig through the drawers. "Hey, listen." He suddenly said. "I wanted to thank you for what you did." I paused briefly in my search to raise an eyebrow at him. "For letting me talk to Lydia. It might not have seemed like a big deal to you, but it was—" He sighed. "I've been worshipping that girl for as long as I can remember, so—"

"Yeah, don't mention it." I cut him off. He looked at me with an expression that said he wanted to go on, but I shook my head and held my hand out to him. "Seriously. Stop."

He pursed his lips to bite back a smile and turned back to the cabinet with a sigh. "There's nothing here," He shook his head. "I'll text Allison."

I gripped the keys tightly in my hand and slid the drawers shut, still plagued by the scent of Derek. Rubbing at my nose, I rose to my full height and turned to lead the way out—but came up short.

I know why I couldn't stop smelling Derek… and it's not because I was feeling guilty or paranoid.

He stood in the doorway, his eyes burning red and angry. His shoulders were tight and his jaw was clenched, and I cursed under my breath. I had forgotten the small fact that I have never been able to hear his heart beat. I should've seen it coming; the smell should've tipped me off. And it did, but I had become so dependent on all of my senses that I got sloppy.

"What?" Stiles looked up from his phone and turned to look at me. When he saw my expression, he froze and followed my line of vision.

"Stiles." I said. "Go."

Derek stepped into the room, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he looked between me and Stiles. "Please tell me this isn't what it looks like..." He started. I whipped my head around to Stiles.

"This is between me and Derek. It doesn't involve you. Go!" I exclaimed. "Get out of here, you've gotta get back—"

"—But! He's—" Stiles gestured wildly to Derek and I stomped my foot.

"I'll be fine. Just trust me!"

Stiles looked back at me and our gazes locked for a moment. He seemed at war with himself, but when I nodded at him, he returned the gesture and strode out of the room with a fleeting glance for me over his shoulder.

I turned my attention onto Derek. "We were just checking our grades on a school project—"

"Savannah." Derek tilted his head and turned back to the door. For an irrational moment, I thought he was about to leave, and my heart seized in my chest—sparking with hesitant hope and confusion. His hand came out as he firmly shut the door. "Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out?"

I glanced at the closed door and then focused on Derek. I had never felt so trapped in my life, and the room suddenly shrank about fifty times. All I could smell was him, and all I could feel was his overbearing presence as he towered over me even from across the room. "What can I say? We have some smart classmates; we're worried they'll show us up—"

"Do you see now why I can't trust you?" His handsome face was shockingly open, and I didn't know how to deal with it. I twisted my fingers nervously and squirmed, feeling like I was completely bared to him.

"That's not fair, Derek. You don't even know the whole story yet—"

"Oh, I think I do. I've seen it before. This is a pattern with you, Savannah. Things get hard, and you try to think of the most irresponsible thing you could possibly do—and then you run out and do it," His words cut me deeper than I'd like to admit, as my mind flashed back to when he found me in Mario's. My chin lost some height, as I was unable to look him in the eye. My palms tingled with anxiety.

"That's not what I'm doing! I'm trying to do the right thing!" Suddenly, I was struck with inspiration. My mind flashed back to all that he had done, and I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. I was only marginally surprised to find he had joined me by the desk and was now squinting his eyes at me, raring to bite back. "Would you just _listen_ to me! God, Derek, it's like you're determined to believe that I would betray you! And why? Because I'm a pathetic, washed up, dried out addict? Because I lived on the streets? Because—because of what you think I might have done that gave me these blue eyes," I let them shift to emphasize my point and shook my head before he could respond. He took another step towards me, his expression defiant, but I barreled over him. "All I'm trying to do is help Scott and Stiles find The Lizard. What's so wrong with that? I thought you _wanted_ it found?"

"That's not the issue, and you know it," Derek growled. He jabbed the desk with his finger to emphasize his point, "You're betraying me because you're _leaving_. You found a pack who's got everything you want, everything you think you need, and now you're ready to just run out—"

"Is that what you think?" I stepped forward slightly and frowned up at Derek. He raised his eyebrows at me as if to say _Obviously!_ , and I scoffed bitterly. "Derek, I'm not running out on you guys. I wouldn't do that! I'm _in_ this, okay? I just—I know you want to… I mean, I know you're not going to want to just stop this thing; you're going to want to kill it." He clenched his jaw at me, but had nothing to add to that, which just confirmed what I already knew. "But Scott and Stiles have found a way to figure out if maybe more blood doesn't have to be shed, and I just think we need to take that route—but I'm not— _abandoning_ you!"

"Then _why_ wouldn't you come to me? Why would you go behind my back on this?"

"Please," I snorted, shaking my head. "You would never have agreed to it. You think you know everything, Derek, and maybe you do—but the problem is that you aren't willing to _share_ any of that with us! I have done _nothing_ to you to betray you! But you just keep shutting me out, punishing me for something I've not even done yet. Look at you; you're jumping at the first chance to accuse me, like you've just been waiting for it to happen—well. Guess what? I'm not leaving," It was my turn to jab the desk as I finished.

"I just don't _get_ you," He finally ground out. His nostrils flared as he shook his head down at me. "You want to stay with us, but you want to do this with Scott and Stiles."

"I'm trying to _tell_ you!—"

"You want to be a part of _my_ pack, but you can't trust me to do the right thing, so you go behind my back to do things your way. You say I'm not being honest with you—but _look at you_!" His eyes shifted their bright red color, the same color that had both frightened and entranced me since I met him. "You've got one foot out the door, Savannah— _What do you want_?"

His question echoed in my mind, reverberating like he had struck a drum. I found myself, as I almost always do with Derek, nose to nose, toe to toe. My heart was racing in my chest, and I felt my anger boiling hotly under my skin, and my palm ached to smack his cheek as hard as I could.

So I did.


	21. Poolside View

This isn't violence this is just a war in my head,

I give it time but it never seems to end.

I feel a fire in the back of my throat,

So let's get covered in flames and play some games with the smoke.

You said "don't you try to run right now, 'cause baby I could burn you down."

 _\- Smoke, by PVRIS_

* * *

A crack echoed through the room and shocked both of us.

He turned his eyes onto me, bright red, and panic laced through my veins. My instinct was to apologize, but I swallowed that and rode the wave of anger that still crashed through me. "I'm not going _anywhere_ , Derek! Stop treating me like a traitor."

I realized two things, in that moment. One: the pounding heart, Stiles' scent that randomly attacked my nose—it was all because he was still in the school. He had apparently been racing back towards us during the argument, and he burst into the room. He was out of breath and looking between us with suspicion and worry on his face.

My eyes flashed briefly over to the man I had just assaulted before focusing on Stiles. He strode toward me with determination. "Are you okay?" He asked.

I felt my face scrunch up in confusion. "What? Yeah, I told you. I can handle this, why aren't you back at the game?"

He glanced back at Derek briefly before focusing on me. "Well, I was going, but the whole way there, I couldn't shake the feeling that I—" he broke off and hesitated. "Look, I know you're not familiar with how the whole _friend_ thing works, but I couldn't just leave you."

"I was trying to _be_ a friend!" I said defensively, crossing my arms. "You want to play in the game, right?"

"And then I saw the open door was left wide open, and I knew that couldn't have been you guys—"

"What door?" Derek asked, stepping forward to interject.

Stiles looked between us with a wide-eyed expression. "You guys didn't see it?"

"No," I shifted on my feet. "We were a little busy." Stiles frowned at me, rearing up to yell at us for being careless, and I cut him off. "Stiles, make your point. What door?"

"The one by the entrance…" He looked between us as if waiting for us to catch on. "The handle was completely covered in some kind of slime!"

"Ew," I scrunched my nose up. "You didn't touch it, did you?"

" _Yeah_ , I wiped it all clean with my bare hands and gave it a little taste, just to see what it was." His voice dripped with sarcasm and I found myself barking out a surprised laugh. "I told you, the door was wide open. If Gerard had walked past, it all would've been over—I thought it was weird, it didn't make any sense; I thought you guys were in trouble—"

"So you thought you'd put yourself at risk?" Derek frowned, crossing his arms.

"He thought he'd try to help," I snapped at him, and Derek's eyebrows cinched together.

"Even if we were in trouble, there was nothing he could've done—"

"That's bullshit, and you know it! God, Derek, be a little more condescending, _please_. He warned us, didn't he? We never would've known, at least probably not until it was too late—"

"Okay," Stiles awkwardly waved a hand to catch our attention, and we whirled on him. "Yeah, hi," He bobbed nervously in his spot. "Quick question—if you guys didn't do it, who did?"

"Someone with a really bad cold?" I weakly suggested, but the boys didn't find it amusing as I looked between them. I looked back at Derek, who seemed just as troubled as I was, before looking back at Stiles' hesitant face, his eyes worried.

Derek thoughtfully paused and crossed his arms. "We need to get out of here," He decided, striding past us to lead the way out of the door.

I gestured for Stiles to follow Derek out. He gave me a weird expression, but went ahead and followed him out. I stuck close behind him and immediately started scanning the hall. It was still just as dark as before, and just as empty. I frowned and suddenly felt disturbed. It's creepy that someone could have busted in here, but left the place looking completely ordinary.

"If the door was left open, it could've been anyone." Derek said, though his words did little to either reassure me or panic me. I wasn't sure what to think. "You said the handle was coated in something?"

He nodded and I followed Derek's train of thought. "You don't think it was Gerard, right? I mean, what are the chances—"

"Probably not him…" Stiles said, his eyes glued behind me. I followed his line of vision and looked up to see The Lizard, settled in the upper right corner of the hallway behind us. The hallway that led to the exit, _of course_ , and it hissed as it made eye contact with me—for the second time. Except now it seemed a lot more pissed off than confused.

"Ohh," I said slowly. "That makes sense."

The Lizard suddenly moved, freakishly fast, actually—and scurried down the wall. Derek shouted for us to run, and I pushed Stiles into motion as we took off in the opposite direction. The sound of its nails clicking against the waxed floors helped to spur us on, and we frantically turned a corner.

We passed the cafeteria, and my mind flashed to the exit that was near the library—which wasn't too far from the cafeteria. "We should cut through there!" I pointed to the closed doors, and Stiles skidded slightly as he tried to change course.

"No!" Derek commanded, latching onto Stiles' arm as he dragged him along. "It'll be locked."

"You don't know that!"

"Just trust me!" He snapped.

I felt rage boiling again. "Are you kidding me!?"

Stiles shook Derek's hand off and tried to run with us. I slowed my pace a bit to make sure he wasn't left behind, as we _did_ set a brisk pace—to put it mildly. But The Lizard was still pursuing us, and with our speed, we're that much closer to losing it. After all, I knew what it felt like to not be able to keep up with everyone. I had led a large part of my life with a limp that slowed me down in more ways than I care to remember.

"Come on," I grunted, waving at Stiles, trying to motivate him to push a little harder—move a little faster. The Lizard screeched behind us, doing a better job than my words ever could. I glanced back at it as we turned another corner, farther away from the cafeteria, and deeper into the heart of the school. "Clearly this asshole's got a plan." I knew Derek could hear me, as he ran in front of us, and I definitely used that to my advantage as I ran next to Stiles. "Not that he would ever share that with us."

"Does this seem like a good time to you?" Stiles panted, frowning at me. "The passive aggressive digs, they seem like a good idea right now?"

I pressed my lips together, his words soaking in slightly. Point taken.

Derek suddenly turned to burst through the doors to the pool. I stumbled to a shocked halt because if we were to go in there, we would certainly be trapped. My mind couldn't conjure a reason that Derek felt this was a good plan, or the best place to have chosen. My hesitation wasn't as dumb as it could've been, since Stiles' sudden increase in speed from before did help to gain us a little distance, but the thing still ran really fast. It was gaining on us, and Stiles made the decision for me as he latched onto my arm and dragged me through the doors.

Having the same thought, we both turned to slam the door shut behind us. The Lizard ran head first into the door. Stiles was knocked back slightly, but pushed back as hard as he could. I did the same, although The Lizard was frighteningly strong, and my feet slid against the ground as I struggled to keep the door shut.

It cracked open again as The Lizard crashed into it, and some of its claws poked through the opening, terrifyingly close to Stiles' side. I felt my heart pounding in my throat as I shoved it closed again.

"Stiles!" I grunted out through my teeth. His eyes flashed to meet mine, our faces not too far apart because we were both putting all of our weight and strength against the closed door as The Lizard crashed against it again and again. "Lock the door."

"But—" His eyes looked back to the door, and I knew what he meant without him having to say a word. In order to lock the door, he would have to turn around, because the lock is inconveniently located behind both of us. If he were to let up, The Lizard would have the distinct advantage. It would be purely my strength against its strength, and I would have to keep the door completely shut long enough to let Stiles flip the heavy lock. It was clearly an impossible task. I shook my head.

"Do it," I growled, and he clenched his jaw as he hesitated. Breathing roughly through his nose, he cursed under his breath as he flipped around to lunge for the lock.

The moment he let up, I cried out and planted both my boots into the ground as I braced my entire weight and strength into the door. The Lizard bashed against the door again, and it popped open really far for a minute. Far enough to allow one of its arms through, the claws swiping out at Stiles' arm.

He let out a deep ramble of curses and dodged back just in the knick of time. Panicking, I closed my eyes and shoved the door as hard as I could. The Lizard's arm cracked a bit as the door closed on it, and it let out a high pitched shriek as it hissed and jerked its arm out from the door.

Snatching the moment up, I slammed the door shut and Stiles' fingers were already clasped around the lock. The moment that the door was closed he flipped the lock, and we both scrambled back.

But The Lizard didn't crash against it like we expected. It had hissed for a moment longer, but now it was unsettlingly quiet behind the door. Stiles and I looked at each other with wide eyes.

"…Where did it go?" He breathed, and I shook my head, the fear in my throat stealing my breath away.

I reached out to gesture for him to get down the steps and away from the door. We hurried down the steps, my knees shaking as I went, and adrenaline pumping furiously through my veins. Fear rolled off of Stiles in sheets, but so did an undercurrent of determination. I was impressed with his bravery, as I felt completely horrified myself, but all of my thoughts about the matter were drawn to a close as I stepped onto the tiled of the aquatics room.

I turned to see Derek on the other side of the pool, watching us with his arms crossed.

"Thanks for the help!" I snapped, and he shrugged a shoulder, which just caused me to get even more pissed off at his nonchalant and unapologetic apathy.

"You guys were just wasting your time. If it wants in, it'll get in." He said,

"And now, thanks to _you_ , we're trapped!" I went on, striding across the tiles so I could scream at him properly.

"I'm sorry, was it me who just locked us in? I could've sworn that was you," He smartly gestured between us as he pretended to ponder the question.

"You _led_ us here! I tried to lead us through the cafeteria, so we could take the exit, but no!"

"I told you, that would've been _locked_!"

"So we _break_ the lock!" I stomped my foot and his eyebrows shot up. "You're strong, right? Mr. _Alpha_ —"

"That would set off the alarms, and then what?"

"Guys, this is all very interesting, and it's probably good material for Savannah to use at her next therapy session, but right now we've got bigger problems." Stiles tugged his phone out of his pocket and began to scroll.

"What are you doing?" Derek demanded.

"Calling Scott," Stiles returned in a lighter tone.

Derek frowned and let his arms fall. "Why?"

"Because he can help?" Stiles' eyes widened in exasperation, and I smirked.

"See what I'm dealing with?" I gestured with my thumb at Derek, who shot me an acidic glare that I dutifully ignored as Stiles pursed his lips with knowing wide eyes as way of reply.

"Make one more comment like that." Derek darkly threatened. "Your sweatpants will disappear."

I gasped, "You wouldn't!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Try me," He warned.

"You guys have a really healthy relationship," Stiles dryly interjected, shifting on his feet anxiously as he tried to contact Scott. I snuck a glance at Derek, who had already turned away to look at something nearby. "Why isn't he responding!?" Stiles growled in frustration.

"Maybe he's still at the game. Did you try Allison?" I stepped closer to look down at his phone, and saw the answer for myself before he said anything.

"I did," He sighed. "Neither of them are answering."

We froze as his words, spoken aloud for no real reason but to relieve his frustration, sunk in.

"You don't think?"

He looked at me with wide, frightened eyes. "…No." He tried to sound sure, but it only came out as hesitant and desperate. "The Lizard wouldn't have just left. No way."

We both looked down at the phone as we tried to convince ourselves.

It didn't work, and Stiles began to frantically tap at his phone, and I flapped uselessly around him. "Try to call him! Or her! Maybe their texts are on silent!"

"What?" Stiles frowned.

"Right?" I pathetically replied, bringing a nervous hand up to rub at my nose as I paced around him. "That's a thing? Right? Your calls can have a ring tone, but your texts will vibrate?"

"I think that's on iPhones only."

"No," I shook my head. "I'm almost positive it's not."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Oh, do you have a phone?"

"Hey," I pointed at him. "Don't judge me."

"I'm not judging you," He quickly amended, seeming slightly worried. "I'm not! I'm making a point."

"Well," I defensively crossed my arms and pouted. "Shut up."

He huffed out a dry laugh and looked back down at his phone. I turned to get Derek's input on the situation, and frowned when I didn't see him. The place he had last been standing in was empty. I turned all around, fearing the worst. He wouldn't leave us, though, right? He wouldn't. Right?

The room was empty, the lights in the water of the pool reflecting a bright blue over the entire room.

"Derek?" I called out, grabbing Stiles' attention. "Derek!"

The longer the silence went, the heavier it grew, and so did my stomach. If he just abandoned us, I will never forgive him.

I strode forward and continued to call out to him, when suddenly, I tripped over something.

I yelped and hit the ground with a heavy thud. Looking back, I gasped when I saw Derek lying absolutely still on the ground. "Oh, my god!" I exclaimed, my heart seizing as I scrambled forward to look down at him. "Derek, what are you—"

"It's in here," His voice was low and his chest rumbled, his eyes briefly flashing red as he looked around. My heart began to pound furiously and I sat up to look around wildly. Stiles had stopped texting and was making his way over to us, his own heart picking up speed as he looked around the room.

"Where is it?" I asked, though neither of them could answer me. "Where did it go? Why are you on the ground? Get up," I hurried to my knees. "We've gotta get out of here!"

Derek huffed out an impatient sigh. "I can't," He ground out. "I can't move."

"What?" Stiles and I chorused. Derek looked pained to admit this, but he looked so vulnerable there on the ground that it only came across to me as slightly endearing.

"I can't move. I'm paralyzed, I think it's got some kind of—poison on its claws, Savannah, you've gotta watch out for its claws. I think it goes for the back of the neck." He frowned and looked up at me. "Get out of here."

"Yeah," I breathed, reaching down to grab his arms. "Let's get out of here,"

"No!" He snapped. "There's no time! Just go!"

"Oh, yeah," I sarcastically snapped. "The sooner you stop suggesting that I abandon you, the better off we'll be. I can't keep having this argument with you—"

"Savannah!" Stiles said from behind me. I froze where I had Derek's lifted half way up, standing awkwardly over him with my arms underneath his back as I lifted him, his legs below mine.

"Huh?" I grunted, struggling to look behind me.

"It's too late," Stiles pointed to a corner where the emergency exit was. "It found another way in,"

I let one arm slide out from behind Derek so that I could get a better view as I turned.

And sure enough, there it was. It was standing on two legs, but slowly began to crouch upon spotting us. It hissed and lowered slowly to the ground.


	22. Waterboarding

I'm just a problem that doesn't want to be solved,

So could you please hold your applause

Take this sideshow and all its freaks

and turn it into the silver screen dream

Singing I am your worst, I am your worst nightmare

I am your worst, I am your worst nightmare

 _\- Novacaine, by Fall Out Boy_

* * *

It felt funny, this new sensation that drove me. I've heard other people mention it before, but I've never felt it for myself—never needed to. I was overcome with the need to get Stiles and Derek to safety, to hell with my own wellbeing. It threw me off kilter and I swung back around to look down at Derek with wide eyes, hesitating.

He was unable to do anything. That much is clear; I could read it in the desperation in his eyes. For days now, his eyes have changed slightly. It seemed that now that he had gotten the pack he was hunting for, he was grappling with how to use us. To me, at least, it seemed like he was still adjusting to being in charge. For once, he had someone there to back up his stupid plans—he had me to tell him how just how stupid they were, and yet still, oftentimes I find myself in situations like this. After I've followed his stupid plans. After I tried to tell him, and went ahead and did it anyway, and now we're trapped.

Now Derek is paralyzed, unable to move. Able to speak—but that doesn't do us any good because the only thing he seems capable of doing is accusing me of leaving, or spouting bad ideas. Or just being bitter in general. The only time I've seen Derek say the right thing is when he lets his actions speak for him, and he's paralyzed, so…

I was conflicted, as the creature tilted its head and hissed through its nose at me. Stiles called my name and I glanced back at him. He hopped over to me and said something, but I was staring down at Derek and trying to figure out the next move I should make.

"Stiles." I said, as the creature began to cross the tiled floor, its nails clicking as it quickly bounded. I'm out of time. I can't stop to contemplate my decision, I can't take the time to come up with a better alternative; it's the only solution that I can see. "You need to take him," I picked Derek up off the ground, the adrenaline pumping through my veins making it effortless as I tugged him up to his feet and flapped my hand to Stiles.

"What?"

"No!"

The boys exclaimed simultaneously, looking at me with incredulous expressions. I reached out to tug Stiles by the jacket closer to me, transferring Derek's weight to him.

He bent slightly—as Derek _easily_ had at least sixty pounds on the guy, and wobbled under Derek's arm. He made a funny noise of strenuous shock and I locked eyes with Stiles. "I'll distract it. Just get out of here, I'll be right behind you!"

"Don't listen to her, Stiles," Derek growled.

"Savannah!" Stiles called, only slightly struggling with keeping Derek upright now. "Don't be ridiculous! Savannah!"

I ignored him and Derek as I quickly crossed the floor and cut The Lizard off before it could reach the end of the pool. I only managed to catch it off guard for a brief moment before it rose up and swiped at me, causing me to hop back and dodge its claws like Derek warned.

They were white and looked almost plastic, though I knew they were anything _but_ plastic as they glistened slightly under the lights. It shrieked at me and I roared back, staggering back as it lunged for me. It was faster than I anticipated, so I only just managed to get out of the way in time before I turned on my heels and fled. It pursued me closely. So close, in fact, that I could feel its breath on my ankles. The scent of novacaine was overwhelming, and I clenched my jaw and tried to ignore the sensation of my heart trying to claw its way out of my throat. I worked through the terror as I ran, skidding to a stop when I ran out of floor to run across, and whirled around to face The Lizard as I slid to a stop. It leapt for me and I ducked at the last moment, causing it to crash into the wall because it didn't have enough time to catch itself so it could spider crawl like usual.

It let out a deafening screech of anger and pain, rolling across the floor as it quickly changed tactic so it could stand. I jumped up and planted my boot on it's back, pinning it to the floor momentarily.

I was careful to keep my other leg out of the reach of its arm as it swiped violently at me and hissed furiously, and my fingers tingled faintly as I channeled all my fear and anger into lashing my claws across the scaly, thick skin of its back.

Its screech deepened to a yowl and it thrashed on the floor and bucked, throwing me off balance. My boot slid across the tiles, my arms windmilling as I tried to catch myself, but I couldn't find purchase on the slick floor, and I sailed through the air with a gasp. I think I heard someone yell my name as I was launched backwards, but I can't be sure about that. All I could comprehend was that numb acceptance of knowing you'd just made a terrible mistake, but it's happening now, it's already been set in motion and there's nothing you can do but ride it out as it happens, and pray that you come out of it alive.

My mind flashed back to the night on the cliff, the last time I had this helpless sensation. In my mind, I heard Jack shouting my name and my heart jumped in my chest—but I couldn't concentrate on it anymore as the ceiling of the aquatics room flew into my vision and I drew in a gasp as something collided briefly with my boot before my head cracked against the edge of the pool.

* * *

 _The rain came down in sheets, pelting my face violently. This must be what water board victims feel like, the water showering on my face relentlessly, sliding up my nose and into my eyes and mixing with my tears. It was cool but did little to soothe the heat from my intense sobbing or the burn of water up my nose, and it barely registered to me as someone called out to me._

 _I turned onto my side and coughed on the rainwater as I struggled against the slippery mud under my hands, trying to sit up._

 _Fire, white hot, burning, searing pain raced up my leg. I gasped and I think I might've screamed, but I can't remember, and it wasn't important anyway, because all I can know for sure is that the bones in my legs are shifting in a_ very _queer way. I can feel it—I can feel that it's broken. I can feel that something is wrong, very, very, wrong, but I couldn't linger on it for long as the memory of Jack disappearing over the cliff barraged my mind and I screamed for a different reason._

 _"Stop!" Someone was shouting over the thunder, grabbing my face between their hands. My hands lashed out and I batted at them with terror to try and get them off of me, and my eyes flew open._

 _I froze._

 _A white room looked back at me. My heart stopped. My mind stopped, my body stopped functioning as I frowned in confusion and blinked dumbly at the face in front of me. The woman had dark hair and a kind face, young and pretty, wearing a pink nurse's outfit. Machines around us were screeching, sending out alerts and beeping loudly. More medical personnel rushed into the room. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and she had a syringe in her hand, and something pricked my arm as I tightly clung to her arm where it still held my face._

 _"You're okay," She said soothingly, "You're fine. You're okay." And she just kept repeating that as she injected something into my arm and I felt my mouth open as I tried to find the words to tell her I definitely_ wasn't _okay, and the lights dimmed in my vision, and her face grew blurry, and the darkness tugged me back down into its greedy arms, Jack's name on my lips as I fought a losing battle._

 _You're okay._

 _You're fine, you're okay. You're okay._

 _-"_ You're okay," The young face of someone said over me. But he had short dark hair, and his eyes were a lighter brown as he smoothed the hair back from my forehead. My mouth was cotton dry. I felt a strange, cool sensation on the back of my head, which stung like a bitch. I hissed in a gasp as I settled my head against the wall behind me, and his hands quickly reached out to gently grab me around the back of the neck as he lifted my head from the wall and shook his head at me. "Don't do that," He advised smartly. "It'll probably hurt."

"W-What—" I looked around. I was in a room that glowed blue. Two guys stood behind him, one huge with bulging muscles that were basically put on display under the soaked shirt on his body. His arms were crossed as he frowned down at someone else, some distance away, a younger looking guy—scruffy, and curious like a puppy. Dark brown messy hair and a crooked jaw, he frowned and shook his head at the taller one. "Where am I?" My eyes focused back on the concerned face crouched in front of me.

"You—" He sat back in surprise and looked around. It was strange; I could _smell_ him—like, intensely. And I could—I mean, I think I could hear his heart beat. It was steady, but it was picking up speed as he carefully looked over my face. "You don't remember?"

I blinked dumbly at him. "You smell like how George Clooney looks." My mind worked to identify that strange, spicy scent. It was fresh—but vanilla-y, too, like… pine trees, maybe.

His eyebrows shot up. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," a cute pink dusted his cheeks and I tilted my head. Something nagged me. I felt like I was watching a movie and I spotted someone that I think I know from a different movie. It clawed and picked viciously at my mind, as I tried to place his face. I know him. I _do,_ who is he?

"Why are you wet?" I asked, looking down at his red tracksuit that was kind of dripping onto me, cool and wet, and pelting me uncomfortably.

"Guys," He turned around to look at the two behind him, who had already focused on us. They were in the middle of what might've been an argument, but the smaller one stepped towards us with his eyebrows scrunched together and his mouth pinched. His earnest eyes were focused entirely on me.

I glanced over to the wet man behind him. He looked at me with a strange expression, a mixture of confusion and concern, but an underlying emotion that seemed… standoffish. Distrusting, maybe. Skeptical. And oddly, angry. "She can't remember anything…"

"Well she was knocked out, Stiles," said the taller one. He raised an eyebrow at me, and I could tell that he was just saying that to be spiteful, because he already knew what Tracksuit was about to say.

"No—I mean, I don't think she knows… anything." I looked back at Tracksuit and frowned.

"What's going on?" I started to panic a little now, as they all looked at me like I should know the answer to that question.

"Do you know who I am?" Tracksuit asked, settling into a sitting position in front of me. I rubbed anxiously at my nose, careful not to brush my head against the wall.

"Yeah—I mean… I think so. I know your face, have we met?" His eyebrows shot up, but before he could reply, I answered my own question. "We've met." He twisted his mouth crookedly and felt an urge to tease him about—anything, really. Just to tease him, to make that blush reappear. "Yeah, I definitely know you…"

The tall one turned around and began to stride out of the room. "Wait—Derek!" The smaller one called from where he stood. "She's your beta! She can't remember anything, where are you going?"

I felt my face scrunch up and I looked back at Tracksuit to mouth the word _beta_ at him in confusion, and he just stared down at me in concern, his lips still pursed.

"She'll remember. She'll heal. My other betas are looking for me, I'll be right back." The one leaving said, his voice tight and strange… This sounds weird, but it was like I could _smell_ his displeasure rolling from him.

"He seems… angsty." I mused after he disappeared, and Tracksuit snorted in surprise. He blinked down at me with a wondering sort of concern. My mind was still grappling to place a name for him, and that urge from before returned to me.

"What can you remember?" He asked, shifting where he sat. I thought back, but my mind was just fuzzy and my thoughts slid around quickly like shadows, too slippery to get a tight hold on.

"I… I don't know." I admitted weakly, touching my fingers to my temple. "Ugh, I can't—remember! I can't remember _anything_! It's like, it's just out of my reach. It's like it's on the tip of my tongue—why can't I just—"

"That's okay," Tracksuit's voice lowered slightly, distracting me. "You're okay," his hand rested on my knee to try and calm me down, and I felt my face heat up and my stomach flutter slightly. Confused, I frowned at him and he quickly jerked his hand back like it was burned. "I—I mean, Derek said you'll remember soon," He scooted away from me a bit as his face burned red again. "It's fine, you'll probably remember everything in a few seconds, and then you'll hurt me for what I just did—"

"What?" I frowned at him. "I doubt that."

"No," He shook his head. "Trust me. You don't let people touch you. I'll probably lose this hand, or—" His head whipped up to look at me with wide, golden brown eyes. "Don't take my car keys— _promise me_ right now that you won't touch my keys," He gripped my shoulders like he was talking about life or death, and I bit back my amusement.

"Alright," I said, and he sagged in relief.

"Savannah," Said the smaller one behind Tracksuit. My head jerked up so fast to answer him that I forgot about my injury. The back of my skull brushed against the wall, and I squeezed my eyes shut and tensed up, waiting for the pain to come—but it never did. I unclenched my shoulders and reached up to touch the back of my head gingerly.

It didn't sting, as I prodded at it with a frown. Slowly, I opened my eyes and frowned down unseeingly at my lap. "It—It's fine. I'm fine, I mean, it doesn't hurt—it doesn't… it's bleeding, though," I looked down at the blood on my fingers, and Tracksuit exchanged a glance with the guy behind him. "What's going on? This doesn't make sense, what—"

"Here," Tracksuit said, shifting so that he scooted forward and grabbed my shoulder. "Let me see. I'm just going to check it—"

 _She said, throwing the blanket on my legs up. I looked down at the giant plaster cast and watched as she poked a dull nail-like device at my toes. "Can you feel that?"_

 _I clenched my jaw. "Am I supposed to?" She raised an eyebrow at me. I sighed through my nose and looked away, to the window of my room. "…No."_

 _"Good. That means the spinal block is still working… the cast seems like it's good. Where's the pain at today?" She asked, scribbling something on her clipboard. I knew her name to be Nurse McCall now. She was a nice woman, and she took my attitude in strides. It almost made me want to be nice to her, to treat her differently, as she treats me differently._

 _Almost._

 _"It's right here," I pointed at my head and she looked up from her clipboard to watch me dryly as I continued. "I've got this curious pain, nagging me. Just when I think it's gone, it's back in an hour. Even if I'm asleep, it doesn't matter—it'll wake me up, and I gotta say, it's getting old."_

 _She raised her eyebrows at me. "Am I supposed to be the pain?"_

 _"Gee," I smiled humorlessly at her. "Pretty_ and _smart!"_

 _"You know," She dropped the clipboard to her side and slid her pen behind her ear as she stepped forward to rest her hand on my leg. "You really shouldn't bite the hand that feeds you. Didn't anyone ever teach you that?"_

 _Her words did soak in. Regret tinged through me, but I couldn't stop myself as I said, "What if that hand only feeds you ice chips and hospital food?" She smiled at me, but it never reached her eyes as she turned to leave the room without a word. "Wait! I'm a ten. A ten! I need more medicine!... Nurse!"_

 _The hallway was silent and empty outside my room, as I watched and waited for her to return. I stared for another five seconds before sighing heavily and crashing back against my pillow with a huff, looking down at the ugly white pillar stuck on my leg._

 _I growled and snatched the thin blue blanket back across it bitterly, so I didn't have to look at it anymore._

I gasped and pushed Stiles away, scrambling to stand. He fell back on his butt and started to protest.

"Where is it?" I exclaimed, as the memories came rushing back at me. They flooded my mind as I staggered to my feet and swayed dangerously, desperately trying to push all the darker memories back into their cages, back where I had locked them away for good. Down, deep in my subconscious, where they couldn't eat at my mind anymore. Where they couldn't plague my emotions and suck out my personality until I was a shell of a person.

But they tore at me viciously, having just been set free for the first time in years. Having been contained for _far_ too long, like a ravenous animal, shredding at my heart. My emotions welled up faster than I could handle, and the memories sucked them dry so fast my head spun. I bent over at the knee and grunted out a cough, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it," I whined under my breath, gripping my head furiously.

"Are you still hurt? Savannah, what's wrong?"

"Are you okay?"

A hand rested on my back and gripped my shoulder. I looked into the eyes of Scott McCall, so reflective of his mother's. He has no idea I know her. Or, he shouldn't, since I've never told him, and she has that patient-doctor confidentiality agreement. I guess that doesn't mean she honors it. But as he frowned in concern at me, I somehow doubted it. I was horrible to her. I hope he didn't know.

"Savannah," He said, basically holding me up. "What's happening?"

I breathed out heavily and ducked my head, gripping his arms tightly where they rested on my shoulders. "I remember," I ground out. "I—I'm just… I remem-remem-"

I couldn't even get the word out as I struggled to catch my breath, my heart stinging with how much I missed my family. My soul aching with the need to see Rex, to feel his curly dark hair under my fingers.

"You need to slow down," Stiles said from behind me. "You're having a panic attack!"

I only managed a grunt at him as my claws came out and my canines protruded. Scott motioned for Stiles to get back as he stepped forward and grabbed me roughly by the elbows, forcing me to look him in the face. I snarled at him and thrashed against his grip, just as strong as mine—no, stronger. I struggled against him as he continued to speak to me.

He words brushed my consciousness. "heart rate—you have to slow it, Savannah. You have to calm down. Just breathe. Think of something that calms you down. Think of someone who calms you down."

I stopped thrashing against him and settled for squeezing the shit out of his forearms, my claws digging into his flesh as I ducked my head and conjured Rex's face in my mind.

I could hear him squealing _Vannah_ that day, so excited, so surprised to see me. It didn't calm me like it usually did, though, because all I could see were his dark brown eyes locking onto mine as he was dragged away from me—dragged out of my life, torn from me—

"It's not _working_ ," I managed to grunt at him, and Scott locked my arms down at my sides.

"Then think of someone else!" He commanded. Stiles rushed forward and I was hit with a wave of laundry detergent and pine needles. " _Stiles_! Get back!" Scott commanded.

I snarled and thrashed against Scott's grip to look up at Stiles, as he slowly continued to approach us with his hands out. "I'm not afraid of her," He stated. I gasped in a hot breath and growled through my nose.

"Are you _stupid?!_ " My voice shrilly grunted, and Scott dragged me farther away from Stiles, locking my arms behind my back.

"Maybe." He admitted. "Probably. But you're not going to hurt me." He held his hands out calmly and glanced at Scott behind me, before focusing entirely on my face. "You know how I know that?"

"You know _nothing_ ," I growled. "I'll hurt _anyone,_ Stiles, have you met me?!"

"I have," He tilted his head slightly and seemed to hesitate before saying this next part—but forged ahead anyways. "You remembered my birthday."

I froze. I stopped thrashing, I stopped fighting Scott, and I locked eyes with Stiles. I was unable to even form the word, but he read it on my face, saw the question in my eyes.

"The day you were at lunch and the lunch lady didn't let you take that banana. I brought it to you, because you looked hungry, and I..." He paused. "I knew that you might not have a lot. So I brought you one. And then you told me happy birthday. Do you remember that?"

My mind flitted back, to when I told him happy birthday. I remember basically shutting down afterwards, just so he wouldn't ruin my one act of kindness. I clenched my jaw and looked down at his white sneakers.

"You like to pretend that you're some horrible person. Like you're a monster that no one should be around, like just _speaking_ to you is a mistake because you'll somehow ruin our lives." He stepped closer and leaned down slightly to try and catch my eye, shaking his head slowly. "You're not fooling me, Savannah. The truth is, you do care. You barely knew me, but you took the time to tell me happy birthday, even as you had what might have been the worst day of your year. You went to Isaac's house while you were supposed to be distracting me so that you could grab him some clean clothes. And tonight, you tried to sacrifice yourself so that Derek and I would be alright."

I looked up at him and opened my mouth to refute him, but nothing came out as I felt Scott's hands slip off my arms and he stepped away from me, as I stared into Stiles' eyes and frowned at him in confusion.

"I mean," He smirked. "The Lizard sort of ruined two of those plans for you, but… You tried. And to me, that says you're not evil—or heartless, or uncaring. Or whatever else you like to pretend to be. You're brave, you care about your friends—even if you won't call us that—and above all, you're _incredibly_ strong. And it has nothing to do with being a werewolf."

I looked away and breathed out an awkward laugh, shaking out my sweaty hair. "Geez, Stilinski." I shifted and looked back down at my feet. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

He raised his eyebrows and scoffed, as Scott laughed behind me. "You think?" I tried to bite back a smile, and failed as he shrugged, and Scott stepped around to join his side. "I guess I was just returning your George Clooney comment."

Scott shook his head. "Yeah, I don't know what you're talking about," He leaned down to sniff at Stiles. "I don't see it."

I strode forward and playfully shoved both of them, raising an eyebrow at Scott, as I found myself unable to look at Stiles for some reason. "I never said he looked like him!" I defended, as we began to leave the aquatics room. "He smells like George looks."

"That doesn't even make sense," Scott laughed, and Stiles shrugged.

"Hey, I'm not questioning it—" He put his hands out and shook his head. "That's not only the first outright compliment I've gotten from her, it's also the best compliment I've gotten— _ever_."

"Don't let it go to your head," I said as I opened the door Derek must've already unlocked, and we stepped into the hallway. We made our way to the exit and I frowned at the two of them, thinking of something. "Hey, what happened back there, anyway? While I was unconscious?"

Stiles sighed, most of the short-lived cheerfulness draining from his face. "Yeah. We should probably should fill you in."

We paused by the door leading out and looked down at the slime-covered handle. "That's so gross," I curled my lip in disgust.

"I guess that's the poison it uses to paralyze its victims." Stiles observed, shaking his head as we studied it.

"It's smart." I pointed out. "It used the door, instead of crashing through a window or something."

"That's because it's like us," Said Derek's voice behind us. We all turned around.


	23. Part II

_**This is like, the unofficial second part of the story. I'm not sure why this is the second part... it just feels right. Things sort of shift from this point forward, so splitting the story into two parts feels right.**_

* * *

I threw my hands in the air, I said show me something

He said if you dare come a little closer

Round and around and around we go

Oh, now, tell me now, tell me now

You know

It's not much of a life you're living

It's not something you take, it's given.

 _\- Stay, by Rhianna_

* * *

I felt a torrent of emotions as I looked back at where Derek stood. Anger, first and foremost. He's still not off the hook. He left me when I needed him back there! Who stood by me, when I had forgotten everything? When every part that made me who I am was taken from me? Scott and Stiles. Where did Derek go?

 _To take care of the pack._

"I resent that," I scowled at him, and the anger in his eyes lifted for a moment as I went to join his side. "He's not the same as me! I'm at least _prettier_ than The Lizard, wouldn't you agree?" Something had shifted in me. There was no denying it. This night, all the memories, it's changed everything.

Outwardly, Derek kept that signature scowl on his face, though it was tainted with a troubled expression at this particular moment. But inwardly I could sense his amusement, and maybe even a brief flash of relief when I came to join his side. Hmm. That surprises me; I have to admit. He shifted and ignored me like I'd never spoken, stoking anger inside me. "It's not about how it looks, or even what it is." He cryptically explained, only succeeding in confusing everyone more.

"All right Derek, we get it." I dryly commented, crossing my arms as I sent him a glare. "You know more than us. Stop beating around the bush and just tell us already."

His eyes narrowed but before he could say anything Scott spoke up.

"Have you known the _whole time_?" His voice was uncharacteristically irked, though I could see his reason to feel that way. I was actually sort of proud of his ballsy tone. My chin tilted up as Derek's eyebrows furrowed even more, as if he was offended by the thought alone.

"No! I didn't know, at least… not until I saw the way it reacted to its reflection."

"So what is it?" Stiles impatiently asked.

"It's called a Kanima." He finally informed us, and we all paused for a moment as if expecting that finally giving the thing a real name would change things. After all, we'd worked so hard to try and figure out that _exact_ piece of information—I had gone behind Derek's back, lied to my pack, almost _abandoned_ them, and all for the name of this stupid creature. And now we had it. My eyes flickered over to Stiles, who had been pretty quiet thus far, before looking back to Scott. Finally, when nothing spectacular seemed to happen after the curtain was lifted, we almost jumped when Derek continued and broke the trance.

"What I meant by saying it's like us… it obviously isn't a werewolf, but it's still a shifter."

"Are there others?" I frowned, and Scott perked up at the possibility. Derek shook his head and his expression darkened.

"It's not a common occurrence—it's actually really… rare."

"How rare?" I frowned, shifting on my feet. "Are we talking like, shooting star or unicorn? There's a difference."

The corner of Derek's mouth twitched, and he paused. "If I had to choose between the two I guess I'd have to go with the unicorn."

And, despite the somber mood and the seriousness of the situation, I snorted. Everyone looked at me like I'd grown two heads, but I couldn't help it! "Oh, come on!" I laughed. "I think we can all agree that we never expected Derek Hale to grumble, _I guess I'll choose the unicorn._ "

"Anyways," Stiles suddenly interrupted, and I was left alone to revel in the comedy of the situation. "If it's like you guys, then it's a person, right? It can't be that way _all_ the time. So who is it?" We collectively paused, the notion that The Lizard is not only a person, but someone we might know drenching the whole thing with a healthy dose of reality. "Do we know him?"

"Or her." I helpfully chirped. My eyes mischievously sparkled. "Hey, maybe it's Mr. Harris," I said, jabbing my elbow towards Stiles. "Heh? I was supposed to go to detention with him tonight. Maybe it's his way of getting revenge for skipping."

Stiles bit his lip and quickly shook his head at me, glancing briefly back at Scott as if to say _not now, but that's funny._

"Derek, you see the opportunity we have here, right?" Scott stepped up and Derek's eye twitched at the righteous teen.

"I'm sure we see two very different opportunities, Scott."

Runt-roe. This relatively rare, mutually beneficial and insightful, and altogether _peaceful_ meeting between our packs was quickly devolving. Scott stiffened and I placed a hand on Derek's arm without thinking, though what I thought he might do, I'm not sure. It just seemed like the thing to do.

"Derek, please," Scott's words suggested he was begging, but the tone in his voice bordered threatening. "I know what you're thinking, and you have to see the other option here! No one has to _die_!"

"That's not up to us, is it?" Derek snapped, shaking my hand off his arm. I brought my hands together and bit my lip to keep myself from interjecting, though it literally pained me to do so. "There's not much I can tell you about the Kanimas, but one thing's for sure: that thing is getting more and more violent. There have been too many close calls! If you hadn't shown up tonight to stop it, you _know_ it would've tried to kill us!"

Scott paused, mulling Derek's point over, and we all waited to see what he would say. "…All right." He said, his voice quiet. "Maybe… maybe you're right about that. Maybe its only purpose is to kill us, for whatever reason. But _maybe_ there's more than one way to handle this!"

"And just what do you suggest, Scott?" Derek sneered.

"Maybe—maybe we should take this to the Argents!"

Even _I_ know how ridiculous that sounded. I didn't even try to defend Scott's argument, and I didn't object when Derek exploded.

"That's _crazy_!" Derek cried, (except, you know, in a manly-diva way) and Stiles and I exchanged wary glances as we tried to decide who had the better argument here. "The Argents are going to tell you the same thing I am! Except if you go to _them_ , you'll put the rest of us at even more risk!"

"They might know a way to handle this without anyone having to die!"

"Scott," I quietly interjected. "That's not how they do things. You _know_ that. They live by a code that kills _werewolves_ , and I don't know if you've forgotten, but I've heard that they're spinning out of control! Gerard killed some _random_ omega, remember?" Scott seemed offended that I wasn't siding with him, and frustrated that Stiles was the only one on his side here. He looked at me like he'd expected more, but I couldn't find it in myself to agree with him on this point. "How do you think they'll react when they hear of another real life monster threatening innocent lives?"

Derek's hand twitched beside me, but I ignored him. "Savannah," Scott breathed. "You can't seriously be siding with _him_ on this?"

I looked down, shaking my head. "I'm sorry, Scott. I can't justify dragging hunters into our business, welcoming them into our lives… before tonight I thought there was a way to save the damn thing. But after… After everything I've seen…" Just as I'd always done, I hardened my resolve and locked down my emotions. "I think maybe Derek's right on this one."

"Savannah, you could _know_ this person!" Stiles cried, his face completely twisted with what was borderline disgust.

"Yeah?" I snapped, stepping forward. "Well I _definitely_ know you! And I know Derek, and I know Scott—and that thing wasn't hesitating to kill _us_ tonight, was it? It's not like I want to kill someone we know, Stiles, but if it's us versus him, I'm choosing _us_. If that's the way it has to be, then fine!" Derek was very quiet as I spoke, but Scott and Stiles seemed about to fall over in convulsions. "Derek's right." I continued, my voice lower this time. "It's only a matter of time before this thing actually succeeds in killing one of us. So as far as I'm concerned, the sooner we can get to it, the better."

* * *

Civility crumbled between our two packs very quickly after my declaration. I hadn't intended to choose Derek's side so… _colorfully_ , or expediently, but extenuating circumstances kinda shot that horse in the face, didn't it? I could only hope that what progress I'd seemed to make with Stiles hadn't been sacrificed in the process. He had just basically told me that he thought I was _good_ , which is the highest compliment I'd been paid in… a very long time. I could only hope tonight hadn't changed that.

I was pacing in the warehouse, ignoring the questioning looks that Isaac and Erica would send me every now and then. Finally, Isaac couldn't seem to take it anymore, because he approached me first.

"What's going on?" He asked, putting his hand on my elbow to stop me mid-stride. I threw him a dirty look and he immediately let go, and I raised an eyebrow before continuing to pace.

"I already told you. The Lizard is actually the Kanima, and I'm _fine_."

"Yeah." Isaac dryly observed as I passed him for the second time. "You seem perfectly at peace with yourself."

"Shut up," I snapped, and Isaac's mouth tugged into a wry smirk.

"My, you're more hostile than usual…" I ignored him and continued pacing, rubbing at my nose as my mind flew a million miles an hour. "Any particular reason?"

"Yeah, you won't shut up!"

This seemed to do the trick, and then some. His eyebrows shot up and when I looked over at him after his silence stretched on abnormally long, I saw the hurt that reflected in their blue depths and forced myself to halt in my tracks. Resisting the urge to groan, I crossed my arms at him.

"What?" I demanded, and Isaac shrugged.

"I'm just waiting to hear whatever it is that's got you so stressed."

I softened then. Isaac is not the problem; he's never _been_ the problem. He's the nicest pack member I have, and frankly, he's the only one who seems to care. "If I tell you, will you leave me to think in peace?"

"Of course." He wryly agreed.

"And you won't ask any other questions?"

He sighed through his nose. "So grouchy… okay, have it your way. If you tell me why you're so broody, I will leave you to angst in peace."

"Excellent," I brought my hands up and pressed my palms together, looking up to the ceiling as I began to pace again. "If you _must_ know, I'm trying to figure out how to solve Beacon Hill's unicorn problem without having to kill anyone in the process… There's got to be something I'm overlooking."

Isaac watched me with a strange expression, though the word incredulity does pop to mind. I ignored him as I continued to think, my mind pumping like a freight train, but the feeling of his probing gaze was like someone pounding incessantly on my front door. I ground to a halt and whirled around to snap at him again. "Go! We had a deal, I answered your question, now go pester someone else!"

"You can't be serious!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands at me in exasperation. "You can't just give someone an explanation like that and then not expect them to have follow up questions!"

"That wasn't part of the deal, now was it?" I cruelly responded, fully intending to ignore him now.

"Savannah." He tried, but I walked past him with my eyes focused on the leaky, decrepit ceiling. "Savannah! What unicorn!?"

"Savannah," Called a familiar, deep voice. I lowered my gaze, focusing just beyond Isaac's head, and locked gazes with Derek.

Without saying a word, I abandoned my pacing and moved towards him.

"What!?" Isaac cried. I raised an eyebrow at him as he flapped his hands helplessly. "I'm calling bullshit! That's some biased crap right there!"

"Oh, shut up," I smirked, ducking into the cart and casually strolling up to my usual spot. I stretched out and tried not to let my mind wander back to the last encounter Derek and I had alone. But then he stepped towards me, and the shadows danced across his face, and I felt myself becoming annoyed as my heart rate picked up when he began to creep towards me without a sound. "I guess we've got some things to discuss."

He watched me, wordlessly taking another step forward. So many things could be read from the expression on his face. What was he thinking? Was he thinking about how I'd stuck up for him? Was he wondering why I'd chosen them— _again?_ Was he doubting my choice, like usual? I waited for the questions to begin, but he just lowered himself onto the seat across from me and watched me.

I shifted uncomfortably, glancing away and clearing my throat. "So, go on," I frowned. "Discuss."

He raised an eyebrow and sat back.

"What?" I scoffed, throwing a hand up. "What are you waiting for me to say?" Silence. "I'm sorry I went behind your back? I'm sorry for all the mixed signals? I was wrong? You were right? Please don't kick me out of the pack?"

Finally, a response. His face flickered with some new expression, but before I could decipher it he'd cleared it away. "Savannah, please." He said, as if I was a melodramatic child. "I wouldn't kick you out, and you know that."

I paused. I didn't know that, actually, but it was relieving to hear. "So what then?" I sat forward, propping my elbows on my knees. He stared at me. "Speak!"

He took in a breath and steepled his fingers, looking down. "Are you really _here_?" I blinked at him. "Or do I have to worry about you going behind my back again?" His eyes flickered up again, nailing me to the wall.

I felt heat creeping up my neck. "It's not like I wanted to do it, Derek. But you didn't leave me much of a choice!" His eyebrows shot up. "You wouldn't _tell me_ anything!"

"I didn't _know_ anything!"

"Oh, bullshit!" I snapped, and his jaw clenched. One of his many tells I've learned, meaning I was grating his nerves. "You could've told me _anything_ and it would've been enough for me."

He blinked, the anger funneling out of his features again. He sighed and sat back, seeming to collect his thoughts before continuing. "I can't control you, Savannah. If you want to go... I can't stop you. But I want you to stay."

I blinked once. Twice. My heart took off at a race, and I suddenly couldn't sit still anymore—I sprang up from my seat and began to pace again, trying to muffle the way my heart was pounding with my heavy footfalls on the metal.

But it didn't escape his notice.

I hate the way he seems to reduce me to this childish indecisive mess. I stopped in my tracks, throwing my angry, wild eyes onto him. " _Why_?"

"We need you." He said simply, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. Immediately, I was thrown with mixed emotions. Relief, confirmation. Surprise, certainly.

I looked down for a moment. "If I stay, you have to be more honest with me. I can't be all in if I don't know what I'm fighting for."

He nodded, sighing and breaking the tension. "In that case, let's talk about the Kanima."

 _Finally._ I quickly went to reclaim my spot across from him. "You want to kill it." It wasn't a question, we both knew that.

Derek's jaw clenched again. "You don't have a problem with that?"

"I've made my position clear."

"Really?" He said flatly, unconvinced. My eye twitched.

"Believe it or not, Derek, I'm a criminal. That's how you found me, right?" I smiled mirthlessly at him and his expression was blissfully clear of emotion—in the way that only Derek's ever granted me. No judgment, no condemnation or respect, no pity or sympathy. Only his green eyes, trained thoughtfully on me. That's why I keep coming back. Because he sees me, and he knows me, and he doesn't try to label me. He's not afraid to drag me back from the brink of self-destruction, never has been, and he never hesitates to put me in my place. Which is why I didn't waver to say my next bit. "I'm no stranger to death."

We both took a moment to reflect on my honesty.

"I think you'll back out." He finally said, and I felt myself stiffen in annoyance.

"Did you ignore everything I said just then?"

"I know you, Savannah," he reminded me, and I found myself standing again. "When we find out who it is you're not going to be up for killing them."

"You can't say that! You don't _know_ that!"

"I do," He stubbornly persisted, also rising to his feet.

"You don't even know who it is yet!"

"I have an idea," he challenged, raising an eyebrow.

I paused. He lifted his chin in triumph, as if my hesitation was confirmation to his hunch that I'd back out. "Who?"

"Sure you want to know?"

"Just tell me," I sneered, irritated but his relentless condescension.

"You're going to back out."

"I only back out when you've got stupid plans," I snapped.

His eyes narrowed. "You'll back out."

"So you've got another suck-ass plan?"

"I know you won't like it."

"Try me," I dared.

He watched me for another beat, and for a brief moment in time neither of us said anything. We stood, as we often found ourselves, at odds. Toe to toe.

"Jackson Whittemore."

I paused, looking away in surprise. Jackson Whittemore? I quickly ran over everything I knew of the guy. Well, he's an ass, to be sure. Grade-A jerk, captain of the lacrosse team, boyfriend to none other than Lydia Martin herself… Your typical, glory-hog-jock. He's adopted. In some twisted way, I might've ended up a lot like him, actually. I don't know how I would've turned out, had I been adopted, but I have no guarantee that I wouldn't be just like Jackson. So… could he be the kanima?

"Interesting." I breathed, pacing again. "…Very… interesting."

"I want to bring him here to find out."

I froze and looked back at Derek in surprise. "And how do you expect to do that? You think if you squeeze hard enough Jackson's gonna squeal and _tell you_?" I snorted. "No. Jackson Whittemore looks out for _numero uno_. He'll never tell you a thing."

"Well, he won't need to," Derek cryptically said, crossing the cart to a dark corner. He picked up something that glinted under the dim, spotty lights in the warehouse, and I tilted my head as he pulled up a shard of mirror. He was careful to handle only one end of it, and I realized that it reeked of that familiar novacaine scent.

"You're going to make him look in the mirror?" I snorted, cocking my hip and crossing my arms. "I can assure you, you don't need to drag him _here_ to do that. Interesting approach, but futile, nonetheless."

Derek's eyes raked over me in a patronizing manner. "No," He said slowly, like he was speaking to a brain dead toddler. "It's got the Kanima's poison on it."

Finally, I understood. He planned to try and poison Jackson. I narrowed my eyes. Before I made my case, I would make sure to have all the facts for once. "And how do you expect to get him here?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"Hmmm." I murmured, slowly inching closer to him. "That's a great plan. Glare him into submission. It seems to work for—" I paused. "Stiles." Derek and I reflected on this, a quiet amusement filling the silence. "You wouldn't mind if I tried something first, right?"

I came to a stop in front of him and he looked down at me.

"I'll just need a bit of this," I pointed down at the large gob of thick venom that was smeared on the edge of the broken mirror, and Derek's eyes narrowed.

"No." He stubbornly said, trying to back away.

I reached out and latched onto his arm, and he froze, ever mindful of the paralytic poison that was no more than a finger's width away from our skin. "I could take it…" My voice was low, and Derek's eyes narrowed even more. "All I'd have to do…" I jostled his hand, and he quickly snapped out a threatening growl, his eyes flashing red. "Or. You could let me have some, and we could handle this like adults."

His eyes searched over my entire face, and I made sure to never look away. "Derek, think about it for a minute. We're on the same side, here. All I'm asking you to do is give me a chance to try this without resorting to zip-ties and blindfolds. Not everything has to be a damn crime. At least, not in an obvious way."

He watched me for a beat, glancing down at where I could still turn the glass on him and paralyze him, before finally sighing heavily through his nose. "You've got one day."

* * *

 ** _Review! :D?_**


	24. Phase One

_**I recently made the mistake of venturing over to the "anti-Stiles" side of Tumblr. I feel ...**_ disturbed. _**That anyone could not love Stiles is surprising to me, but everyone is entitled to their own opinion. I can respect their perspective.**_

 _ **I'm starting to think I should stick something at the beginning of all my stories, like "If you hate Stiles then you should probably hit the back button because this story will piss you off"... Cause I love my Stiles. And I always will. In fact, I'm gonna go edit the first chapter real quick...**_

* * *

"Remind me why I'm doing this again?" Grumbled Isaac, and I smiled calculatingly.

"Because if Michael Jackson could pull it off, you can too." I fastened the leather glove onto his hand and plopped the empty vial in front of him. He lifted his right hand, which was the only one that had the glove, and turned it this way and that in front of his face, an expression of distaste snarling his upper lip. "Also, I couldn't find the other glove."

"… I hate you."

A laugh tore from my throat and I reached out to nudge his shin with the toe of my boot. "Okay, hate me all you want, but I'm trying to save a life here. This is a noble cause, Isaac. I thought you'd be excited," My words were noble, but my tone was mocking, and I grinned up at his unimpressed face and he rolled his eyes as he grasped the mirror, the leather of the black glove squeaking slightly.

"Now what?" He asked, with the end of the shard positioned over the mouth of the vial.

I raised my eyebrows. "Pour some in."

" _Obviously_. I just… tip it?"

"Obviously," I bit back, and he nearly stomped a foot.

"If this gets on me—"

"That's what the _glove_ is for, O.J.," I smirked fakely at him, and he narrowed his eyes.

"Original. Do you want me to do this or not?"

"I'm just waiting," I put my hands up and he huffed out a stubborn sigh, concentrating like his life depended on it. I glanced up at him, his mouth pressed into a hard line, cheeks puffed out slightly and brow furrowed as he literally held his breath and watched the string of poison reach its sticky hand down to the vial. It smacked the glass and the rivulets of gel like novacaine-scented venom dolloped in the belly of the vial.

"That's enough!" Snapped an _extremely_ close voice, and Isaac and I both jumped in fright. Unfortunately, he had his left hand braced on the table next to the vial to keep his grip steady, but when he startled, he jerked and a stream of the poison licked his exposed hand.

"Oh, that's just great!" I growled at Derek as Isaac lifted his wide, panicked eyes up at me. "Give me that," Snatching the shard of mirror out of his hand, I was careful not to let any of the poison on my hand as I let out a string of curses at Derek.

"I could've told you that would happen," Piped up the unwelcome voice of Erica Reyes.

"Can it, Barbie! Unless you want to find a nasty present mixed into that foundation of yours?"

She gasped from her spot across from Boyd, laying her playing cards down and turning to send me a heated glare. "You wouldn't," She hissed.

I raised my eyebrows and stepped forward challengingly, holding out the poison to her. "Wouldn't I?"

"I knew this plan sucked," Isaac's low voice griped. Quickly setting down the shard, I stepped around the wooden crate we'd been using as a makeshift table and watched with worried eyes as he struggled to make a fist.

"Yeah," I winced. "It wasn't the best option, but school starts soon—"

"And I'm the only one who doesn't have to go." He finished knowingly, and I cast a quick glance over at Derek, who didn't look regretful in the least as Isaac's hands slowly started to tremble from the effects of the paralytic venom.

I sighed and patted his arm. "Sorry, kid." He grunted without adding anything, probably because anything he had to say wasn't particularly nice. It wasn't long before I noticed his knees wobbling with the effort it took to remain upright, so I quickly helped him across the dirty warehouse in the direction of the cart.

"How do you plan to get that shit in his system anyways?"

"Very carefully," I ambiguously replied as I helped him up the step and over the threshold of the cart. The metal floor thudded with our combined weight as we staggered to a seat, and Isaac let out a strained grunt when I finally deposited him onto one of the cushions.

"How Derek of you," He slurred, slumping over slightly as the poison pumped through his veins. This sounds weird, but I could smell the toxic effects it had on his blood. Gradually, he began to sweat, and there was a heady undertone of frustration and helplessness that made me feel even worse.

"Um, I think you're confused." I raised an eyebrow down at his wilting form and he struggled to lift his chin so he could look at me. "Careful is the antithesis of Derek Hale."

"Ugh, no," he breathed out, his speech capabilities quickly dwindling as his shirt muffled his voice, fighting a losing battle to look me in the eye. "I wass talkin' about your cryptic responsse."

My eyebrows shot up as I briefly considered his words, reaching out to nudge his shoulder so he collapsed against the cushion with a pathetic grunt. Sadistically, I smirked at his plight, and if it were possible he would've flipped me off. I knew because of the contempt that his blue eyes threw me when he glared my way. "Okay, Blues Clues. Go to sleepy-sleep town now." I rose from my seat and reached out to pat his head like a dog, taking perverse pleasure in the fact that he couldn't do anything about it, and snickering devilishly when he snarled at me. "I'll tell Derek to try and remember your snack time!"

I think he might've told me to go screw myself, but I couldn't be sure. Hands on my hips, I grinned widely down at him and sighed. It was also funny as hell to see him like this, but to be honest, I did feel pretty bad. If Derek hadn't interrupted then it would've worked. Another beat passed before I remembered the vial was still sitting out there, so I quickly jumped out of the cart and hurried over to pick up the cap.

Derek was nowhere to be seen, which disappointed me a bit because I was hoping to at least chew him out a little for what he did to Isaac, and Erica had apparently already left for school.

Hmm. It's as if she doesn't like me! I snorted to myself and quickly screwed the cap onto the vial, lifting it up so I could glare distastefully at the wretched substance.

"So what's your plan?" Boyd's deep voice rumbled from his spot at the stairs where he was organizing the cards back into a neat deck.

I took in a breath and pretended to consider his question, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. "Well… It's simple, really. I'll probably start by putting monitoring devices in all the world's electronics, and once I've put eyes and ears everywhere, I'll hire a team of the best attorneys in the country to draw up a bulletproof contract that ensures I can't ever be blamed for spying on the country, and after I've figured out everyone's patterns and weaknesses, I'll use those against them and form an advanced plan of subliminal messaging and slowly inject a mind control serum into all the water plants, slowly poisoning everyone and making them dependent and susceptible to my influence—" I paused at Boyd's confused expression, his mouth open and hands frozen over the cards. "Oh… Wait a minute…" I feigned horror. "You _weren't_ asking about my plan to take over America?!" Finally, he rolled his eyes and scoffed, looking away as he began shuffling the cards with renewed vigor. " _Crap!_... Well, there's nothing for it, I guess I'll have to kill you—"

"You know, I'm _trying_ here," Boyd snapped, and I stood from the crate. Shoving the vial into my jacket pocket, I slowly approached the steps and looked down at Boyd. He continued to glare up at me. "The least you could do is return the favor."

"Favor?" I snorted, moving up so that I was standing on the same step he was sitting on. "I never asked you to do me any favors. And besides that, I _did_ try, Boyd. I _tried_ to save you, to warn you—to be a _friend_ to you. But I was too late. And now, I can't seem to find the energy to put myself out on a limb for you again. So… if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do," I marched up the steps, but his hand quickly reached out and gripped my ankle.

"We're a pack now, right?" His dark brown eyes lifted to meet mine, and I raised an eyebrow down at him.

"Right. Which is the only reason I haven't kicked you in the head by now for grabbing me!"

He finally let me go, putting his hands up as if I was a disgusting piece of trash he'd accidentally picked up. "Fine!" He snarled. "I was just trying to be a friend! Won't make that mistake again."

"Good." I flatly replied, stomping the rest of the way out of the warehouse.

* * *

Luckily, athletes are predictable. It makes poisoning them _way_ too easy. Not too many people keep such a tight schedule, but when winning and appearances are at stake, there's no messing around. It didn't take much an effort for me to figure out that Jackson was on a strict, self-imposed diet. When people asked him _what_ exactly that brown, slushy goop was that he drank from his shaker bottle every morning, he usually sneered and told them to worry about that diabetes they're headed for. But I happened to know that that brown goop was my ticket to testing him for Lizard Disease.

No, figuring out _how_ wasn't the problem—I thought of it only moments after Derek suggested Jackson could be the Kanima. It was _when_ that was the issue. Ideally I could find someone to do it for me. Unfortunately, recent events have narrowed my field of options considerably, as Scott and Stiles still seemed pretty annoyed with me, if their cold shoulder is anything to go by—and in the past I would've just traded pills to a 'friend' to do it for me. But that's not exactly an option anymore, either. That's last resort material; when I've pulled all the stops and crashed into too many road blocks.

So, it's me myself and I. This complicated things. Jackson and I aren't exactly on speaking terms, and in fact, I don't know that I've ever really taken the time to interact with him before. It was never really worth my time.

I would have to get creative.

Which is why I found myself sneaking around the locker rooms before school started. There wasn't a very large time frame I was dealing with here, because I waited outside and eavesdropped through a window until I heard Jackson tell Danny that he was hitting the showers. Danny clipped something sassy back, which made me smirk and a sudden pang of guilt flooded me. I missed that overgrown tree… But, there was a job at hand. I had no idea how long Jackson spent in the shower, and there wasn't but about twenty minutes before school started anyways.

Because of this, I had to be even more careful than I had hoped. Plenty of students were arriving in the parking lot—though not too many of them took the time to glance over at the locker rooms, and I waited for as long as I dared to before ducking into the locker rooms.

It was unbelievably loud here in the mornings. Sounds of final reps being pumped out by the lacrosse players echoed over everything, chorused by the streams of the shower heads, and a low hum of male voices compounded all of that—and to top it off, there was an overwhelming stench of testosterone that made it impossible for me to identify which locker belonged to Jackson.

It takes a _lot_ of stank to impede my sense of smell, so you can imagine how intensely horrid these boys' lockers were. I frowned and panicked, shifting from foot to foot as I glanced over all of them. _Crap, crap, crap! Which one!?_ They were all identically blue, and though there was the occasional pair of sneakers or set of clothes laid on the bench, there was no identifying mark on any of them. I don't know what I was expecting—name tags?

"Danny!" Jackson's voice suddenly cut over the noise and I nearly jumped from my skin, bashing into the lockers in my haste to hide. "I forgot my sandals!"

Pressed against the cool metal of the lockers, my wide eyes stared in the direction of where the showers were, my heart pounding in my ears so loud I almost missed Danny's reply. Adrenaline was practically numbing my veins, and I cursed my own stupidity. This is the merit to Derek's methods. At least if you kidnap someone, you don't have to worry about _this_ kind of shit!

"And?" Danny sassily hollered back from the other end of the locker room.

"And I need them!"

"So?"

" _So_ , go get them!"

My eyebrows shot up at Jackson's crass, spoiled behavior, and I nodded as I heard Danny snort at him. There was a pause, and Jackson grudgingly added a _please_ to his request.

Danny sighed, and I strained my ears, praying to hear him tell Jackson to go fuck himself. Instead, I heard the shuffle of shoes on the tiled floors of the locker room, and my head whipped around as I quickly realized that Danny was actually coming to get his shoes for him. Which were in one of the lockers. Which I was not supposed to be standing in front of.

Although, I could recognize a good opportunity when it came my way, so I quickly turned around and began to tug on the lockers at random. Surely, one forgetful teenaged boy didn't _actually_ lock his damn locker! But as I continued testing them, and none of them budged, I became desperate, and Danny's footfalls were close enough to hear without the perks of a supernatural gift.

So I panicked. I yanked up one of the lockers as hard as I could, breaking the lock inside, and crammed myself inside, pulling it closed just as Danny came around the corner.

I clamped my hand over my mouth, doing everything I could to keep quiet, whilst simultaneously holding my awkward, cramped position. Something in a bag cracked under my foot and and I forced myself to resist the instinct to jump off it. Probably, it wouldn't be such a good thing if I hopped around inside a locker while Danny was standing _right there_.

Although, the view wasn't exactly bad. Danny was a fine specimen, if I'd ever seen one. With his tanned skin and deliciously fit body, I lamented his distinctly _gay_ disposition, and didn't hesitate to let my eyes feast on his glistening back. Yeah, he's hot. Too bad.

I almost forgot what I was there for, and I slapped my hormones in check as I mentally marked which locker Danny had taken the sandals from. He grumbled something to himself and swung the door shut, dragging his feet slightly as he headed for the showers.

The minute he disappeared around the corner, I _almost_ popped out of the locker—but I stopped myself just in time as another boy came around the corner. He had blonde hair and an unfamiliar face, but I didn't particularly care _who_ he was, so long as he hurried up! He was completely clothed, though, with a sweat-soaked grey tank top and black gym shorts, and my heart almost popped in my chest when he headed straight for me.

Immediately, I prayed that I would suddenly diappear. Or would be gifted with teleportation. Or suddenly gain invisibility. Please, please, _please_ , something stop him! I don't care what, meteor, leprechaun, _unicorn_ —anything!

He took his steps agonizingly slow, eyes fixed directly on the metal door that separated me from his sight, and I didn't budge an inch—I didn't even dare to _breathe_ as he approached me. His hand reached up, and he began spinning in the combination. My mind flitted over all my options.

Could I blackmail him? _No, no, don't be stupid, you don't even know him! There's no time for that!_ His fingers spun the lock back around, to the second number, and I clenched my fist.

My hands flashed out and gripped on the locker from the inside, holding it shut as tight as I could manage. I almost gasped as the locker rattled when he jerked on it, echoing _extremely_ loud to my sensitive ears—especially in this tense, compromising position. The tips of my fingers burned as I let my claws out, and I watched him closely as he cursed in frustration and spun the combination again. His sweat was impossible to ignore, it filled my nose and clouded any hesitation I had to hit him. He's ruining _everything_ and he can't even get his freaking combination right! At this rate, he _deserves_ to be hit!

On his second failed attempt, he smacked the locker and I couldn't hold back a small growl of irritation. His eyes flew up to the vent, right where my eyes were, and for a second I thought we locked gazes. I froze.

His face crumpled and he backed away, shaking his head and laughing to himself. Confusion muddled my thoughts, my claws raking against the metal with a screech as I pressed my face into the vent to see where he was going. He moved one locker down and set about putting in his combination again, shaking his head to himself, and I was struck with a cloud of emotion.

Relief, disbelief, outrage—he'd been trying to open the wrong god damn locker! _Idiot!_

Finally, he grabbed a fresh change of clothes, sandals, and headed for the showers. I knew I couldn't have much time left, so I didn't waste any as I extracted myself from that stupid metal cage and leapt over the bench, quickly yanking Jackson's locker open. Danny had left it unlocked, which wouldn't be a problem if I wasn't here to break in.

There was a bag hanging up, and his shoes and socks were sitting in the bottom. Glancing around, I quickly unzipped the bag and rooted around until I found his shaker bottle. I dug the vial from my pocket and resisted the urge to either shatter the entire thing in the bottom of his cup (hello, glass shards? I want to paralyze him, not kill him) or to bite the cap off (the goal is to _not_ paralyze myself.)

I was in the middle of waiting for the sluggish venom to _spill_ already, when I suddenly smelled Jackson getting closer to the lockers. I shook the rest of the venom into the bottom, screwed the cap onto the vial, and dropped the damn vial on the tiles. It bounced, almost shattering on impact, and rolled under the benches. But I didn't have time to worry about that, so I sacrificed it and closed his shaker bottle and stuffed it back into the bag. I quickly and quietly shut the door and sprinted around the side of the lockers just as Jackson rounded the corner.

I ran a hand over my hair and squeezed my eyes shut and inched towards the exit, holding my breath until I was outside and scrambling back around the corner, the cool morning air immediately soothing my hypersensitive nerves. I drew a breath and leant back against the wall, taking a moment to gather my wits.

Now, I wait.


	25. Blow The Top Off

Two days ago, if you'd told me I would be racking my mind for excuses to talk to Jackson Whittemore, I'd have laughed in your face and probably picked something about you to insult. So why is it that I'm shadowing him, peeking around corners and looking—for all intents and purposes—like a love sick little girl? It actually brings me great pain to look like one of those empty headed fools who pines over some asshole that probably doesn't see much past her looks, if he sees her at all. But I won't go there—let's focus on what's actually happening.

Jackson is currently shaking his bottle, blabbering away to Danny about _weights and bench pressing_ and blah, blah, mundane, ear-bleeding topics. Seriously, if this is The Lizard's alter ego I, for one, am _sorely_ disappointed.

It's taken an embarrassingly long time for me to realize that in order for Jackson to have been a blip on Derek's radar, he would've had to interact with him at some point. No one is a person of interest to Derek unless they're somehow involved with the werewolfing world.

Now, why would a power hungry, narcissistic, controlling, _absolutely cliché_ classmate of mine, who's the total embodiment of all things stereotypical about a high school star athlete—the son of one of the most notorious lawyers in the area—have _any_ reason to be a concern for _Derek Hale?_ Jackson's not a cop. He's not the _son_ of a cop. He's not a hunter, or the son of one, he's not even _friends_ with any of those people! So why does Derek even know who he is? Simple. He'd have to have been bitten.

But who would bite Jackson Whittemore? How would Jackson even _know_ any werewolves? Oh, that's right! He's got several classmates who are afflicted with the lycanthropic condition, namely: Scott McCall. Somehow, Jackson found out about Scott.

I find it difficult to believe Scott would want Jackson changed for any reason, but I happen to know of a certain broody alpha who's been biting teens left and right.

Well, Jackson wouldn't be my first choice if I were Derek, but…

I pressed my lips together as Jackson continued shaking the drink and I glanced nervously around the severely populated halls that our classmates streamed through. Every time someone blocked him from my vision, I panicked and assumed he was finally taking a swig of his workout supplement, but then they'd pass and Jackson would still be shaking away.

 _Damn it_. I could've planned this better. I'm giving Derek a run for his money. At least Derek does his dirty work behind closed doors! What if Jackson takes a huge swig of the poisonous shit and collapses in front of everyone? Not good! Not good at all!

I huffed anxiously and glanced at Danny, who seemed to be getting annoyed with Jackson's incessant chattering. Jackson had a curious fixation on how much he feels he should be able to lift—and when he mentioned the amount of weight he had been testing, it only reinforced my theory that he'd been bitten. I mean, Jackson's always been a dramatic little shit, but he's not suicidal, and unless he's pumping some _serious_ 'roids, he's definitely risking his life. _Three hundred pounds?_ I let my eyes flit over Jackson's form, which was built, but not buff or _swole_ by any stretch of the imagination.

They had switched topics again, and I snickered as Danny told Jackson that if he ever crushes himself lifting more than he can handle even though Danny's told him implicitly _not_ to do that, he planned to take Jackson's Porsche. Jackson didn't say anything, but I could tell the thought made him unhappy, and suddenly I stopped laughing. Struck with inspiration, I leapt out of the spot I'd been lurking in and quickly strode up to the pair; slowing my gait just as I approached their desks.

I let my eyes focus briefly on the brown sludge that Jackson was apparently allowing to rest a bit after his vigorous mixing, and when he looked away I strained my nose to sniff it.

The strange, almost yeasty scent that tried to overpower the chocolate flavoring wafted from the bottle and made my nose twinge, but there was an underlying, subtle note of the poison. Good, then. It's just waiting for him to drink.

Shoulders back, chin up, I cockily slid into the seat next to Jackson and propped my chin on my fist, staring directly at his face with a huge, fake grin. He had stopped speaking mid sentence and was currently watching me with an expression of absolute distaste, and Danny was watching me similarly.

Several moments passed as we all waited for someone to speak first.

"Um… Savannah?" I finally looked away from Jackson's face and focused my smile on Danny. He frowned at me. "Did you need something?"

"Not really." I simply said.

Danny blinked, and Jackson's eyes narrowed with impatience. "Oh… okay…"

"If you don't have anything useful to say, can you back up a little so that we don't have to breathe in your stink? Seriously, I get that you're homeless, but try the locker rooms. They have showers."

Danny gasped, quickly reaching out to punch Jackson's shoulder. "Dude!" He hissed. "That was _really_ mean! Apologize!"

Jackson snorted and shrugged, unabashed. "Sorry for trying to help you out. If you're going to come to school, fine, but at least do everyone the kindness of practicing personal hygiene when you decide to show up."

"Hmm," I nodded, the rage boiling just under my skin. It literally took every fiber of self-control I had not to just sink my claws into his exposed carotid artery. "Yeah, thanks for the tip. Locker rooms. Never thought of it." I drew in a sudden breath and placed my palm flat on Jackson's desk, trying not to look at his protein shake that still rested next to my hand. "Listen, I think I have some information you'd like to know."

"I doubt that," He scoffed, eyeing my hand in displeasure.

"Don't be so sure, pretty boy," I let my voice drip with sweetness and tilted my head at him. "You own that _gorgeous_ Porsche in the parking lot, right?"

Suddenly, his expression was wiped clean and he sat up a little straighter in his seat. "Yeah, so?"

"I'm pretty sure I saw someone breaking into it." I told him, and he hesitated only briefly.

"That's impossible." He dismissed. "It's got an alarm so loud, even someone who's killed as many brain cells as _you_ could hear it."

 _Excuse_ him? Internally, I bristled, but I was careful to keep my face outwardly cool. I hummed thoughtfully without missing a beat, pretending that he had just said the most interesting thing in the world. "Weird! I guess Scott was just taking a peek, then."

Jackson immediately snapped to attention, all traces of mocking clearing away. He leaned forward with such intensity that I actually leaned back in surprise. "Did you just say Scott? Scott McCall?" He growled, and my eyebrows rose as I smirked in amusement.

"Well, yeah, but you just said it was _impossible_ —"

Before I could finish the thought, Jackson was out of his seat and stalking toward the hallway. I turned and gave a little wave to Danny before sliding out of my seat in a much more collected fashion than Jackson did, taking time to walk calmly and casually after him with his forgotten drink in my hands.

It wasn't hard to follow the trail he left, because he'd actually done the whole 'move or be moved' piece and shoved some unsuspecting classmates into lockers. They stared after him; some of their papers scattered on the waxed floors, and turned to exclaim incredulously at their friends about how rude he was. I stepped over some kid's biology lab as I continued to slowly follow him towards the exit, pushing the doors open and calmly making my way towards the parking lot.

Jackson insisted on getting the best spot in the entire parking lot, of course, so it didn't take long to catch up to him. When I got there, his driver's door was open and he was rooting around the interior. I puttered to a stop on the sidewalk in front and crossed my arms, watching him panic needlessly over his precious car, and patiently waited for him to realize it was perfectly fine. His shaker bottle was cool in my grasp, and I sniffed casually as I unscrewed the top.

Finally, after what seemed a dramatically long time, Jackson quickly backed out of his car and slammed the door shut. His face was the perfect picture of rage, and he turned on me with what appeared to be a nasty string of insults hanging off his tongue—but before he could say anything I stole his thunder and scrunched my nose up.

"Oh," I made sure to dial the fake confusion way up. " _This_ is a Porsche? I'm sorry, I thought _that_ was your car." Jackson whirled on his heels to look at a darker, more bulky sedan, and I think I saw steam coming out of his tiny little ears as he rounded on me. I mockingly winced, letting my eyes go wide briefly with danger and disdain. "Whoops! Oh well, at least I can blame it on my _dead_ brain cells." He was moments away from exploding, and I paused, looking over his form. "What about you, Jackson? What do you have to blame that shitty attitude on? Wait, wait! Don't say." I held out my hand, the lid to his shaker bottle grasped between my fingers. "Let me guess… Dead parents?"

He swelled up like a volcano about to blow its top, and before he could so much as open his mouth, my hand flashed out and a stream of the poisoned whey-protein cascaded over his face, quickly pouring down his neck and soaking his expensive leather jacket and grey t-shirt.

" _Man_ , that felt good." I mused, letting all traces of fakeness drain from my voice as it fell down to its usual raspy tone. The cup dripped onto the ground slightly, and I smeared the liquid with my boots and disposed of the bottle in the grass behind me. "Listen," I said, as Jackson continued sputtering. "I understand that dead parents bit, and I can respect a good antagonistic asshole game when I see one, but I think you've let yours get away from you."

I stepped down onto the parking lot and Jackson opened his mouth to finally spit insults back at me, but something went wrong. He froze up, choking on his own words as the poison apparently began to take effect. I actually stepped back in surprise, my eyebrows disappearing into my hairline and jaw drooping a bit when Jackson swayed and put a hand on the top of his Porsche to steady himself.

" _Wow_ ," I breathed, watching as he quickly began to lose control of his motor functions. He managed to glare up at me, his breathing labored as he grunted in confusion and rage. "Seriously? I did _not_ see that coming! I thought it was you for sure, especially after that pretty little speech you just gave me back in the classroom. Honestly, Jackson, you're a horrible person."

I easily caught him as he started to collapse, reaching down to pop his door open. I deliberately held him so it looked like we were embracing, but leaned my head to the side as far as I could manage so that as little of the poisonous shake touched my clothes as possible. Lowering him down onto the driver's seat, I had a major sensation of déjà vu from when I had done the same thing not two hours ago for Isaac. But I was much less gentle with Jackson, making sure to shove him roughly into the car.

Placing my hand on the roof of his car, I ducked inside and took great pleasure in seeing his defenseless form. His chest was rapidly rising and falling as he struggled to breathe through only his nose in his white-hot fear that I could smell, and a sweat had broken out on his forehead. "Oh, and, don't tell anyone about this or try to retaliate in any way because if you _do_ ," I paused for emphasis, my eyebrows raised. "The next time we cross paths I won't be _nearly_ so forgiving." I let a claw come out of my finger but kept it in my hand, hidden from his view, and his wide eyes popped even wider when I let it run across the smooth skin of his neck. He probably thought it was a blade of some kind, which is exactly what I wanted him to think. The last thing I wanted was for Jackson Whittemore to figure out that I was a werewolf. "You can't reclaim your spot as the alpha of the school if you're permanently paralyzed, can you?"

If it's possible, his eyes popped even more, and his heart was pumping so fast I thought he'd explode. So I smiled sweetly, pityingly at him, and retracted the claw. "It's been nice getting to know you, Jackson. Don't make it necessary for our paths to cross again, okay?"

And with that, I swung the door shut. But my rage was insatiable, and it demanded that I do _something_ to spite the bastard, so when I swung the door shut, I did so hard enough to rip his handle off. I knew the noise probably scared the shit out of him, but as soon as I'd broken it off I frowned because I realized this wouldn't be an easy part to explain away. Then I tried to bring myself to care, but couldn't quite muster the strength, so I stepped onto the sidewalk and chucked it in the grass next to the bottle. Taking long, deep breaths to calm my nerves, I tried to convince myself to leave him there and _not_ to turn back and cut his throat to let him bleed out onto the expensive leather interior of his shining, overly expensive, obnoxious, pretentious vehicle.

I'm a lot of things, but a first-degree murderer is not one of them. I'm more of a manslaughter, second-degree murder kind of girl. I wasn't about to let someone like _Jackson Whittemore_ change that about me. But, it was just so hard to keep my feet planted, to keep from tearing back into his face and striking the fear of god in him.

I took solace in the fact that I'd probably already accomplished that particular duty. I looked down at my clothes and saw a rather large spot from where Jackson's soiled head/shoulders had dampened my shirt.

Panic laced through my chest despite the many layers I was wearing, but I quickly tore off my jacket anyways, and then didn't even hesitate to shed the rest of my clothes from my skin. They fell onto the sidewalk and I ran a frantic hand over the spot that had been damp, but my skin was dry. Immediately, I relaxed, and threw a dirty glare at the Porsche that was still sitting in the parking lot.

"Whoa," A muffled voice cried from within the school. "Check it out! Topless chick!" I whirled on my heels and looked at the row of windows on the school building.

Sure enough, there was a class. And of course, class had started long ago. And _naturally_ the window was flooded by a bunch of hormonal teenagers, who all gawked and freaked out about seeing me standing there—topless, in only my bra and shorts, right outside the window, right by the parking lot. And would you expect _anything_ less than for the classroom to belong to Mr. Harris?

It was at that moment that I realized two things in rapid succession. One, Mr. Harris was glaring at my topless, exposed body. Two, I had missed that detention he gave me the night of the game, and the night of the pool.

 _Well, crap!_


	26. Repercussions

I tugged at the sleeve of the oversized sweater I had been given to cover myself, sighing from my spot in the chair. It had the school's logo printed across it in black, and it was heather grey.

"I've been expecting to see you for a while now." The woman said from behind her desk, her sleek black hair shining in the morning light streaming in from the window. I cleared my throat and shifted.

"Well, I'm a busy girl, Ms. Morrell." I shrugged a shoulder and she smiled at me, pausing to think before speaking again. Apparently, Mr. Harris had classified my 'stunt' as a 'clear psychotic break' and would therefore give me a reduced sentence for my detentions. And by that, he meant that I had four hours scheduled for tonight. And the rest of the week, too. Well, I might bother to show up to tonight's… haven't decided yet.

"Sheriff Stilinski seemed to be under the impression that you were anxious to speak with me. Why haven't you made the time to see me, if it was so urgent for you to switch out of group therapy?"

I looked over her youthful face. Honestly, she couldn't be more than five years my elder. Reeking of an expensive perfume, she wore too much lipgloss and mascara, but I admired her hair—she can seem to get it to do what I've always wished mine would, and her skin tone is lovely. But still. She's annoying me.

"I tried once. I waited for ten minutes, until finally you emerged from your office, but apparently Lydia Martin takes precedence." I dodged, tilting my head at her slightly.

Her face shifted, minutely—but I saw it. "I apologize. Those were extenuating circumstances."

"Extenuating… like, a quick, a generous donation from the Martins, extenuating?" I guessed, the glint in my eye cruel, and it was Ms. Morrell's turn to shift slightly.

"Why don't we focus on you, Savannah? I want to hear about what happened this morning."

I smirked. "Oh, you mean, you want to hear why I decided to parade around campus in naught but my brazier?"

A slightly tight smile tugged at her glossy mouth, and she nodded with a subtle laugh. "Yes. Did something happen?"

"Yeah, quite a lot." I rubbed my nose and glanced away. "The shirt I was wearing didn't match my shorts."

She stared at me for a moment, and I stared right back. "… So you… took it off?" I nodded, my lips pressed together, and she folded her hands together and leaned forward with a sigh. "Listen, Savannah. I get it. Opening up to a perfect stranger is a little ridiculous, guidance counselor or not. I'm not asking you to tell me about your childhood, or the dreams you had last night. I'm asking you to tell me something that I can tell the judge about what happened here this morning so that it _doesn't_ seem like you're having a melt down. Because I don't want to raise the question of spending time at Eichen House, and I don't want to put you on any more medication."

I blinked at her. The only other person who's bothered to treat me similarly is Sheriff Stilinski, but he plays by the rules of the law, and this woman seems… different.

I don't trust her. She doesn't even know me. Why would she try to help me? She must have seen my records. But that doesn't mean I want to take a trip to the looney bin, and if I wanted to take more pills, _believe me_ , I could find more pills. "I'm severely allergic to strawberries, which was in the parfait I almost had for breakfast this morning. Some it spilled onto my shirt and I didn't realize it until I was walking into school. I panicked."

She sighed, and a small smile found its way onto her face. "Very good. You probably avoided a pretty nasty rash. I'll have to recommend that the next time something like that happens, you try to find the nearest restroom before stripping down."

I smirked crookedly. "Aw, but that's not nearly as exciting, though," she sent me a dry look, and I paused. "So are we done here?"

She watched me, hesitating. "I had hoped to get to know you a little more… but it seems like you're having a stressful day. Why don't we reschedule? I want to see you again either this week or next."

My eyes narrowed. "I think we're supposed to get together and have these little chats at least twice a week, aren't we?"

"I only have to give my reports to Sheriff Stilinski every two weeks." She raised her chin slightly and I felt my eyes narrow further.

"Are you saying you'll lie to Sheriff about how often we meet?"

She sighed and picked up a stack of papers, shuffling them noncommittally. "Sheriff wants to make sure you're doing okay. He's a good man, and he's good at his job. But I'm here for _you_ , and I don't see how forcing you to come see me twice a week every week is going to help you at all." She paused, slowly setting the papers down as she looked up at me. "Besides... You're a busy girl."

I snorted as I lifted myself out of the chair and picked up my jacket. The shirt, tank top, and vest I had worn for so long were a lost cause. After they'd gotten the poison on them, it didn't seem like such a good idea to keep them anymore. I said a quick goodbye to Ms. Morrell and headed back into the hallway, where I found Danny leaning against the wall waiting for me.

Shutting the door behind me, I frowned and tugged the baggy sleeves up my arms. Danny looked over my form hesitantly, a smattering of emotions across his face.

"What did you do to him?" He suddenly demanded, and I cocked an eyebrow at him as I smoothed my hair down.

"Who?" I asked, keeping my voice light and coy. "You mean that asshole best friend of yours?"

Danny's jaw clenched and he glanced away. "I know… that he can be a jerk. And what he said to you was out of line, but Jackson is just—angry, you know? He's always so _mad_ and it's got to come out somehow. Sometimes I think he has no heart, until he goes out of his way to do something for me or Lydia. _You_ of all people should understand hurting so much that you can't stand to see other people happy."

He'd struck so close to home that my defenses immediately flung themselves up, and I bristled. "Your boyfriend is fine, Danny," my voice was low as I stepped around him.

" _Damnit_ , Savannah!" He roared, stopping me in my tracks. I turned to look at him with wide eyes, and he looked like he was trying not to pummel me where I stood. "What happened to you? What made you this way?"

I blinked, suddenly unable to speak around the tightness in my throat. My eyes unfocused as I fought away the dark thoughts that suddenly stood; nibbling at my mood. "Jackson's going to be fine, Daniel. He's got a thick skin. Anything I said to him would just roll off his back."

I didn't look him in the eye as I continued down the hall, my chin jutting out stubbornly as I slipped into my usual bitch mode. I felt like I weighed a thousand pounds, and every step I took felt strenuous. The most surprising part of what I felt right now was the undeniable guilt. Danny is always getting caught in my crossfire. He's always suffering because of choices that I make, and I'm _really_ starting to hate that part of myself.

"Savannah?"

I froze and my hand twitched involuntarily. Putting my shoulders back, I ran a hand through my hair and turned to face Stiles.

"Hey," I greeted, my voice betraying me and sounding more tired than I'd tried to aim for. He was wearing his red jacket over a white t-shirt, jeans and his usual sneakers. It felt unquestionably relieving to look at his earnest face, and I indulged myself to relax a bit as I took in the frown marring his eyebrows. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

"I was just—" He glanced down the hall and suddenly came towards me, still looking every bit confused and concerned for me. I looked away and took a step back from him, the guilt from my encounter with Danny still fresh in my mind. I didn't deserve someone like Stiles being worried for me. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I sneered, picking at the hem of my sweatshirt. "Did you hear about the show I put on for Mr. Harris's class this morning?"

"Uh, yeah," He glanced down and his hands started to pick at themselves. "I heard. What happened?"

"I'm sorry, Stiles." I knew I caught him off guard because he actually jerked a bit in shock. He blinked widely at me and glanced around the halls, taking another step forward.

"Okay, Savannah, what's wrong?" His voice was low and urgent, and I felt a genuine smile tug at his response to what was probably the only sincere apology I'd given someone in months.

I shook my head slightly. "I don't want my choice to stay with Derek to divide me from you and Scott."

Stiles' face hardened. "You know he's going to try to kill it."

I glanced down. "I… I know that. It's not the best choice we have, but what do you expect us to do? We definitely can't just let it go. We can't exactly _arrest_ it. What other choice is there?"

" _Anything_ , anything but murder, Savannah!" We both froze for a moment as his voice carried down the hall, and we only hesitated briefly before I snatched up his hand and dragged him into a nearby janitor's closet. He squeaked a bit in surprise and I tried not to laugh at him.

"Can't have the rumor mill churning _that_ one out, can we?" I teased, my eyes sparking mischievously. Stiles ignored me and scowled, bringing his last comment to mind. I sighed and let go of his hand. "Would you relax? I'm trying to figure something else out."

"You are?" He asked, surprise slipping into his voice. We stood close in the small quarters of the closet, close enough that it wasn't challenging for me to see his expressions with my enhanced vision, and the scent of laundry detergent and spice filled the closet. I looked at the freckle on his left cheek and felt and an unwarranted need to protect him from all of this. But Stiles doesn't _need_ me. He doesn't need me to protect him; he's certainly more than capable of handling himself.

"I'm kind of spinning my tires in the mud, but yeah. Just because I think Derek makes a good point doesn't mean that I think he's got a good plan… Scott's plan definitely sucks," I said with a smirk, and Stiles didn't exactly refute it, so I continued. "…If I tell you what I know, will that be enough to prove to you that I'm not…"

His eyes flickered over my face, and he frowned slightly again. "Not what?"

 _A bad person. I just need_ someone _who doesn't think I'm a bad person._ "Actively working against you two?" One of his eyebrows twitched and he fluttered a hand impatiently, flagging me to continue. I quickly sighed and shifted in my boots. "Derek thinks Jackson could be the Kanima."

I paused to let this information soak in, watching as Stiles glanced over at a mop and bucket while he considered it. "Allison had part of the Bestiary translated, and we figured out that instead of a pack, the Kanima seeks a friend."

My eyebrows scrunched together. "What the heck does _that_ mean?"

"I'm not exactly sure, but I find it hard to picture _Jackson_ needing anyone."

"Everyone needs someone," I dismissed without missing a beat, and Stiles frowned.

"You don't need anyone." He observed, and I stared at him for a moment.

"I'm different." I deflected, and he seemed to want to add to that, but I quickly rushed over him. "Anyways, I tested him this morning—"

"Who?"

" _Jackson_ , keep up, Stilinski!"

"You _tested_ him? How?! When? Where?! … _What?_ "

I snorted and held my hand up to stop his avalanche of questions. "I mixed a little of the Kanima's poison into his protein shake this morning, and poured it on his head."

He blinked at me once… twice. Three times.

"You _what_?"

I bit my lip and awkwardly shrugged. "Well, he mixed it himself, I just poisoned it. It was kind of fun." I impishly admitted, and he continued to flail with questions.

"Where did this happen? What happened to him? What did he say? What did _you_ say?"

I ran a hand over my hair and shook my head. "I—I don't know! Long story short, Jackson was being a prick, so I lured him outside and dumped his protein shake on him. The poison _worked_ , Stiles!" He gawked at me, rearing up for another barrage of questions, but I continued before he could get anything out. "Then I stashed him in his Porsche. But when he collapsed I had to catch him, so some of the shake got onto my clothes, which is why I stripped in the parking lot. And then Mr. Harris got the show of a life-time. Luckily, everyone was too distracted by _boobs_ to notice that I had been with Jackson."

Stiles' face had shifted many times during my long-winded explanation, but it landed on dread when he heard the last part. The kind of dread that falls on a face when someone has to deliver bad news.

I stiffened and my eyes widened. "Wait…" I murmured, and his expression intensified to reluctance. "Did someone see us!?"

"Um, _yeah_!" Stiles exclaimed. "That's what I was hoping to get to. Lydia is on a rampage looking for you! It doesn't exactly look good when a girl hears about some other chick being spotted _topless_ with her boyfriend—especially when that girl is _Lydia_ and that guy is _Jackson!_ "

"Hey," I interrupted, putting my finger up, my voice cautiously thoughtful. "Wait a minute… I mean, never in a million years would I do what these kids are no doubt implying, _but_ …" I looked over Stiles' face, weighing my options. "I mean… if you _wanted_ … I could maybe, lie when Lydia comes to confront me, and say that that's exactly what happened."

Stiles' eyes bulged. "What? Why!"

"Because! Then maybe that would cause a rift between them! And you could swoop in and snatch her up," I reached out to prod his shoulder jokingly. "Anything for a friend!"

His first reaction was to snort dismissively, but then I saw him consider it briefly. And then he considered it some more, the smirk fading slowly from his face, and his eyes reluctantly found their way to mine. "That's crazy," He said uncertainly. "That's crazy, right?"

I shrugged a shoulder, picking at the sleeve of my sweatshirt. "It's kind of fun to mettle in people's shit. Especially when they're awful people like Lydia and Jackson, and the fact that it might actually help someone for once kinda makes it… justified."

He stared at me for a second. "Your mind is twisted."

I snorted in surprise, and he smiled with me. "You're _welcome_ …." We both grew quiet for a moment, reflecting on the possibility.

"So what does this mean?" He asked, and I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Is Jackson the Kanima?"

"Well… assuming that the test is an accurate test, and the poison would really not effect the Kanima… I hate to say this, but no. He fell over like a sack of flour."

Stiles and I sighed in unison, and I pursed my lips. "Back to square one." He said, and I nodded. He looked over at the door of the janitor's closet, shifting on his feet. "So, can we get out of here now?"

"What's the matter?" I teased, stepping forward. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

He stepped back and snorted nervously. " _No_ ," He lamely excused. "It's not you, it's—I'm claustrophobic!"

I winked at him and nodded patronizingly, "Sure," But reached out to open the door and lead the way back into the hallway anyways. "So what's the plan from here?" I asked.

"I'm not sure." He sighed, looking around to see if anyone noticed us coming out of the closet. "I'll talk to Scott and find you after school." He began backing away, and my mind flashed to the detention I had with Mr. Harris. Whoops. Looks like I'd have to skip it. _Darn_.

I waved at him and turned around, almost knocking heads with Erica.

"Ugh," I winced like I'd almost stepped in dog poop, my voice dipping an octave in disgust.

"Uh oh," Her brown eyes glanced calculatingly over my shoulder. "What do we have here? Sleeping with the enemy?" My eyes narrowed, and my hands clenched into fists, but before I could add anything she continued. "Man, I've got to hand it to you, Savannah. Despite the life-changing gift you've been given, you really don't let it hold you back from the same old crap, do you? You _really_ get around!"

"Wow," I smirked. "What's the matter? Are you _jealous_? Don't worry, I'm sure someone will be scraping the bottom of the barrel soon."

She sighed with feigned amusement, as if we were old friends and I had just made a joke. "Silly Savannah. I could get any boy I wanted."

"Not Derek," It gave me great pleasure to be able to dangle that in front of her nose, and she didn't disappoint.

"Sure, Savannah. Why don't you just tell me what happened with Jackson, so I can go tell Derek and we can be done here?"

"Mmmm," I pretended to mull it over as she trailed behind me, letting my hips swing with confidence. "No, that's all right. I'll just tell him myself if you don't mind."

"It's not about what _I_ do and don't mind. Derek told me to find out what stunt you pulled, so I could make sure you don't _fuck_ it up for the rest of us," She hissed, punching a locker for emphasis as we walked. My feet came to a screeching halt and my nose scrunched in irritation.

"What?"

She nodded unapologetically, cocking a hip and crossing her arms at me.

"Well, maybe he should come and find out for himself." I challenged. "He's never hesitated to lurk around the school before. I refuse to deal with a low-grade middle man, I think I've earned a _little_ more courtesy than that."

"I'm just as important in this pack as you are!"

I snorted, letting my anger at the situation control me as I laughed spitefully in her face. "Wow! Okay, _sure_ , Erica. You're just as important."

" _Why_ are you such a bitch?" She suddenly asked, her voice a bit shrill with her anger.

I raised my eyebrows and moved down the hallway. "I'm sorry. Were we trying to be civil just now? Is that what you were doing?"

She growled and caught up so she was walking next to me again. "Whatever. Just tell me already!"

"I think I can handle it," I narrowed my eyes at her and paused. "Why don't you go find a leg to hump, Erica, I'm trying to solve this—"

Honestly, I wanted to be rid of her. She reached out to swipe at my face, and I snapped her wrist out of the air before it got to close. In a matter of a breath, I had her twisted around and shoved against the lockers. She grunted and tried to shake me off, but I held fast, and pushed her roughly against the metal.

"Listen," I whispered, my breath rustling her hair. Her claws came out and stabbed my arm where her fingers could reach, and my mouth stretched into what probably looked like a very creepy smile. "I've had a very _bad_ few days. I've managed to burn just about every bridge that I made this year, so I'm feeling pretty pissy right now, and I have no qualms with snapping your bones. You think Derek is brutal?" I pressed her elbow tightly against her back, until the joint popped and she let out a desperate whine. " _Please_. Test me."

She drew in a shaking breath, and I could _feel_ the insults that she was struggling to keep at bay. Her complete outrage and insult was rolling off of her body in waves, clogging up my nose, but there was an unmistakable undertone of fear that I detected as well. Apparently she was smart enough to see I was being serious because she never did utter another word to me.

I threw her arm down with enough force to send her sprawling into the lockers, and she staggered away from me as fast as she could manage, quickly twirling so that her back wasn't exposed to me anymore. I could only imagine how I looked right now, but I was disinterested in sticking around to talk to her, so I stared at her for only another few seconds before turning to stalk down the hallway.

Today's events have really dried up what little happiness I'd managed to find in myself, and I _hated_ that. Just as things were starting to look up, something smacks it right out of balance again. I walked with a chip on my shoulder and my hands curled into fists for the rest of the day, snapping at anyone who tried to speak to me in class.

It wasn't until I saw Danny again that I forced myself to calm down enough to approach him. Lunch had just begun, and he was sitting amongst his many friends. I took a deep breath and put my shoulders back, my chin in the air slightly as I approached him.

His friend saw me first. She was a little thing, with a green streak running through her mousy brown hair, and her surprised gaze caused Danny to turn and look at me. His face dropped as soon as he saw me, and he abruptly turned away.

"Danny," I tried weakly. He pointedly ignored me, picking up a bottle of water and making a big show of cracking it open. I glanced back at his friend, who'd grown quiet and was glancing between us every now and then. I noted that Jackson was nowhere to be seen. "Danny, please, can we just talk for a minute?"

"I have nothing to say to you." His eyebrows were set high on his forehead, his mouth pinched, and the thing is—I couldn't blame him a bit.

"That's fine, I have something I want to say to you."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Nah, that's all right. I don't feel like getting insulted anymore today."

" _No_ , Danny, come on! It's not like that."

"Don't care."

I glanced away, gritting my teeth together. "It's about…" I sighed, closing my eyes. "It's about Jimmy."

Danny froze, and his friend's eyes went wide as she took in this new information. Slowly, he put his bottle of water down and stared at the table for a moment. I ran an anxious hand over my hair and waited impatiently as he quietly excused himself, not even waiting for me as he strode past and led the way out of the cafeteria, into the hallway, and towards the courtyard.

I sighed as we pushed into the warm air, the sun cheerily beaming down on us and providing quite the juxtaposition to our current state of affairs. Danny came to a dramatic halt, twirling on his heel to cross his arms at me.

"Could you make this quick? I have to get to class."

I looked away and drew in a deep breath. "Look, I'm no good at this shit, okay?"

"At what shit?" He impatiently asked.

"At this _apologizing_ shit!"

"Hey, you can save your apologies if that's what this is about," He started to step around me but I immediately blocked his path.

"No, that's not what I'm doing! I mean _it is_ , but it's more than that." He blinked at me. I resisted the urge to growl as I continued, my teeth clenched tightly. "I… I'm _sorry_ for everything that I've done to you. I know how awful I am. You hit the nail on the head today when you compared me to Jackson. He's an awful, disgusting human being, but—I guess… that's what people say about me, too. So…" I looked down at the ground and cracked my knuckles. "I have a way to get Jimmy his job at the ice rink back. I know someone, someone who's been working there ever since Jimmy was fired, and I'm pretty sure he's—found other employment. But it's a pretty good recommendation. Not that he would need one. Well, he might. Anyways, there's an opening..."

Danny's face had changed as my speech went on. He was still frowning, but instead of contempt, it was filled with incredulity. "You… You're telling me that you want to get Jimmy his job back?"

"Yes," I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah."

His eyes narrowed at me, and I held my breath as he studied me. It seemed to take forever for him to speak, and just as I started to regret going out of my way to say anything at all, he broke the silence. "Well… you're too late."

"What?" I frowned.

"Jimmy is _gone_ , Savannah." My resolve crumpled, and I slouched a bit in disbelief and disappointment, frowning at the ground. "His dad sent him off to military school." My eyes slid closed as Danny continued. Suddenly his hostility towards me made a lot more sense. Even more so than before. It wasn't just about Jackson. It was about the fact that I had a part in ruining his relationship. "He left days ago… So now I'll _really_ never see him again."

Fighting back my frustration, I reached up and rubbed at my nose. "I—I had no idea—"

"Of course you didn't, Savannah! Because you never think of anyone but yourself." I flinched and he paused. "I'm not saying that to hurt your feelings; I'm just saying that I understand, and I get it. You can't help what you are."

This time, when Danny stepped around me, I didn't stop him. I brought a hand up to my forehead and shook my head slowly, but Danny's voice made me freeze in place again. "Oh, and one more thing. Even if Jimmy _was_ still here, you shouldn't have been telling _me_ this. You should've told him. It's not about making _yourself_ feel better, because that's all you were doing here. Getting my forgiveness is why you tried to do this. Not because you genuinely _felt bad_ , and that misses the point all together." He paused. "Think about that the next time something like this happens."

And with that, the door echoed as it slammed shut.


	27. Anklebiters

**_*Blasts confetti canon* WOOOOOOO! WE'VE REACHED CHAPTER THIRTY! I think we're like, half way through now. Sorry, had to acknowledge that!_** ** _This chapter is dedicated to_** AnaleighJames **_who sent me an absolutely stunning review via PM! Thank you so much for your uplifting words, and I hope this chapter continues to impress you all..._**

 ** _More to follow shortly :) Enjoy!_**

* * *

 _Let 'em soak in the sun,_

 _Sit back and let 'em have their fun._

 _Let 'em spill their guts,_

 _Cause one day they're gonna slip on 'em._

\- Interlude: Moving On, by Paramore

* * *

 _Think about that the next time something like this happens._

I bitterly tossed another ball of paper at the trashcan, my library chair propped on two legs under me. The paper arced high, sailing over a table, then began its spiraling descent—down, down—it smacked into the rim and bounced away. I scowled and rolled my eyes.

Well, Danny, the thing is, now I can't _stop_ thinking about it.

I gripped another piece of paper from the notebook I'd found on the table, glancing down at the slanted script. Notes for… what is this?

I let the chair fall to all four legs and leaned over the table, dragging the notebook closer as I read.

" _Thursday, March 20, 2008._

 _I thought the dreams had stopped. It happened again last night. Mom and dad think the inhaler helps me, but it doesn't. I can't tell them the truth because mom threw the word therapy out at dinner last week, and that's the last thing that I need—"_

"Hey!" A voice cut over the library and startled me. I smacked a hand over the journal and straightened, my eyes flying up to see a young guy standing in front of my table. He looked pretty pissed. He had brown hair and a striped shirt on, a camera slung over his neck, and he jabbed an angry finger at the journal. "That's mine!"

My eyebrow cocked and I glanced back down. This is his? Who keeps a journal from 2008 anymore? My eyes narrowed as I let his hand snatch the journal out from under me. He quickly scanned the page and his outrage intensified, christening to a peak as the sharp scent flooded the air from when his hand had flashed out in front of my face.

"Geez, _relax!_ I barely saw two words." I paused and looked him over. "You know, if you care about it that much maybe you should keep better track of your stuff, bud." I flashed a mocking grin at him and his hands tightened on the black cover. "Hate to see you lose _that_ because you left it in the library," I said, nodding at the camera hanging around his neck.

His gaze sharpened. "Is that a threat?"

"It's friendly advice," I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms

"Okay, well here's some friendly advice for _you_. Don't touch my stuff."

"Don't flatter yourself. I don't have any interest in reading your angsty little preteen diary." His face flushed red and he sent me a look so filled with rage and violation, you'd think he had lasers in his eyes. I brought a thumb up to my mouth and paused before speaking again. "What time is it?" He scoffed at me and turned his back. "Rude!" I called as he left, pushing through the library doors with more strength than necessary. I smirked to myself and shook my head, glancing all around for a clock in this crappy little fluorescent-lit-library. I much preferred the public one, but at least here I know people won't come looking for me.

"Ms. Carmichael," A snooty voice drawled from behind me. I threw my head back and groaned, cursing the cruel irony of the world. Please, _please_ be an irritating hallucination. "The time is three oh-five, which would make you _late_ for your detention."

"What?" I frowned, my voice high with incredulity. "That's impossible. The bell hasn't even rung yet!"

The older man raised a single, sparse eyebrow at me. His shirt was crisp and neat, as everything about his meticulous appearance was, and he eyed me through his square, sharp-edged glasses at the end of his nose. "I can assure you, it has. Perhaps your _enthralling_ reading material was enough to distract you?"

I glanced down at my empty hands. Had Mr. Harrison seen that little encounter? Did he see me reading some guy's diary? My eyes flitted back up to him. "It was certainly more interesting than the notes in your class."

His eye twitched. "I believe we agreed on four and a half hours tonight, so there's no time to waste."

"And a half?" He turned his back on me and began to head for the exit, apparently expecting me to follow him. "That's not what you said! You said four hours!"

I scrambled after him, pushing the doors open so hard that they banged against the walls. Students who'd been trickling through the halls, book bags hooked over their shoulders, paused to watch the scene I was making. Mr. Harrison slowed to a halt, turning to give me a scathing glare. "Ms. Carmichael," He ground out, venom lacing his quiet voice. "Do you want to make it five hours?"

My jaw dropped. "You can't do that!"

A demonic smirk curled his thin lips, and he tilted his head slightly like a bird of prey, taking a step towards me. "Can't I?" And with that, he turned to continue on to his class.

My eye twitched. "… _No_!"

* * *

Five and a half hours later, it was eight thirty, and I was _pissed._ I burst through the door of the warehouse and very clearly interrupted a tightknit little pow-wow going on, as I clambered down the steps.

"Savannah," Isaac's voice chirped from where my pack was. He was across from Erica and Boyd, where all three of them were listening as Derek—if I knew him—talked _at_ them, and they occasionally chimed in for clarification. It took me all of ten seconds to deduce what was going on. I looked back at Isaac, who quickly stood from where he was leaning against a wooden crate, and turned to me. Boyd and Erica exchanged looks, glancing back at our alpha momentarily. "Where have you been?"

"Nice of you to show up," Derek interrupted, tilting his head at me. "You better have a good reason for disappearing for _six_ hours."

"I bet I can guess," Erica muttered, and I clenched my hands into fists.

"It's been five and a half." I haughtily corrected. "Five and a half hours of sheer, uninterrupted boredom, staring at Mr. Harrison's _boney_ little rat face. I've plotted _five and a half_ different ways to end his career, none of which involve murder, and that's something to brag about, I think. You know, maybe I should run this past Stilinski, see if that whole thing was even legal—"

"I knew it! _See_ , Derek, she's already talking about them and she's not even been here for five seconds. I bet she was with them—"

"Hey, bitch!" Her head snapped around and her eyes flashed, and I snarled at her. "I meant _Sheriff_ Stilinski."

"You were in detention?" Derek surmised, ignoring both of us. I looked back at him, taking in his expression: in a word, disgust.

"Hey, it's not like I _wanted_ to be there!"

"Well then why were you?"

"Because he—he caught me at the end of the day! What was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, _figure something out?_ "

"Derek," I frowned at him and he paused. "I had a detention. The teacher tracked me down. I didn't have a choice!"

"You know, I always forget that you're still just a kid." He rolled his eyes and started back towards the cart. No one said a word. I think Erica snickered, but I found that it didn't even register, and that must've sucked the fun out of it for her because she stopped.

I was frozen in my spot, a million feelings rolling through my body. Or, no, just one. _Anger._ Well, maybe I was hurt, too. Huffing, I lifted my eyes from the ground to where he'd disappeared into the cart. Yes. I was definitely angry.

"Hey," Isaac said. I was a bit irritated and bit back a snappish retort, and he flinched under my violent gaze. "Wanna play poker?"

The question was so— _pedestrian_ that it caught me off guard. I blinked at him and glanced back at the cart.

"Uh—I don't really have any money."

"What, you think I do?"

The corner of my mouth tugged into a confused grin and I frowned at him. "I've never played poker without money before."

"I guess the stakes are a little higher, then, aren't they?" He challenged, and I smirked in confusion.

"No," I laughed, tilting my head at him, and he grinned mischievously. I took the bait, though, and went to join him.

"I bet I know your tell," Erica suddenly piped up. I slid my annoyed gaze over to her, spotting an overturned crate they're apparently using as a table. Boyd was doling out cards and there were three spots open. I wondered if they thought Derek would join, but I tactfully chose not to comment.

"Oh yeah?" I asked flatly. "Do tell."

She snorted. "No way! Are you sure you've played poker before?"

"We'll see when I take you for all you're worth," I sneered, settling down across from Isaac. Boyd snorted and I raised an eyebrow at him mischievously. "Tell them, Boyd." He tilted his head as if he had a lot to say on the matter, but I wisely chose to speak for him. "Boyd knows." I murmured to Erica conspiringly. "We've played before, haven't we, Boyd-o? Ooh, five card draw… sure you wanna do that, Boyd?"

He pulled his lips into a tight line and drew the last card before settling back. "I'm the dealer, so I think I'll be just fine." He threw a mocking smile at me. "Thanks for your concern, though."

I pouted at him and picked up my cards, looking them over and letting my eyes flit up to meet Isaac's without moving my face an inch. He peered at me from over the top of his, and I slid my gaze over to Erica. Suddenly, I leaned over, "No peeking," I teasingly scolded before retreating back behind my cards, and she scoffed at me.

* * *

The next morning, I had gotten up earlier than everyone else so I could steal Derek's gym card from his wallet. How he didn't wake up, I'll never know, but I didn't question it—and I took a few bills for good measure. Fuck him. At the gym, I managed to find a new shirt, but it wasn't the style I was used to. It was a button up plaid shirt, army green and a complimenting yellow, and it was the kind that's meant to be buttoned all the way to the neck. Since it was paired with my black high waisted jean shorts and boots, it didn't look all that bad, but like I said… not my usual style. It did compliment the chokers I usually wore, and the many bracelets I nabbed in the process. Overall, a nice change, I think.

Banking on the new-me, I tied my crazy mane up into a high, long ponytail, and it was with this cautiously optimistic attitude that I started my morning. Things were looking up from the day I'd had yesterday. I'm not sure what's up with Derek, but my pack mates and I had _actually_ bonded last night. Heck, even Erica and I had ended on a civil note— _that's_ a miracle I never thought this world would see.

Thus, when I almost walked into Scott and Stiles in the halls, it wasn't with a scowl, but a pleasant smile. Stiles, as usual, overreacted in his jumpy manner and almost fell to the floor. I shook my head at him and blinked when I realized the look Scott was giving me.

He had a very perplexed expression, his hand gripping the strap of his book bag quite tightly, and I felt my grin twitch. "What?"

Stiles looked between us, and when he looked at me he did a double-take. "Whoa!" He said, looking me over. "You look different."

"You look— _happy_." Scott's tone wasn't as suspicious as his best friend's; it was upbeat and cautiously welcoming.

"Yes." I lightly said, jamming a hand into my back pocket. I don't like the sound of that. _Happy_. "It was a rather short lived, thank you for that, Scott…"

Stiles smacked Scott's shoulder and suddenly thought of something. "Oh! What'd you find out from Derek?"

I quickly glanced around and hissed at him to lower his voice. When it was apparent that none of my pack members were lurking around the corner of the hallway, I turned back to the pair and took a breath. "Nothing," I bitterly spat, shaking my head. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he's up to something."

"Like what?" Stiles exclaimed, his voice shrill.

"I'm not sure yet."

"You didn't try to ask Isaac?" Scott frowned, and we moved closer to the edge of the hall as we spoke. I took a deep breath and frowned thoughtfully.

"No, actually. We were... Playing poker," I said lamely, and I swear Stiles almost passed out on the spot. Scott rushed forward, his face urgent.

"You're telling me Derek didn't mention it at _all_?" Stiles exclaimed, and when I hesitated, he immediately shook his head. "No. I don't buy that. Savannah! Come on! You _saw_ how determined he was about killing that thing. You know him! Better than either of us, probably. You know he wouldn't have just let it go!"

"I—I don't know!" It pains me to admit it, but Stiles was making a lot of sense right now. Is Derek hiding something? It could be possible... It did seem like they were plotting something when I walked in last night. I should try to ask Isaac about it.

"Hey," chirped the voice of the boy in question. I bristled like a cartoon, my shoulders lifting as I almost levitated from the floor in shock when Isaac approached us— _in the middle of school,_ in public, where people can _see_ him! "My, isn't this cozy?"

My eyes roved over him, taking in his black leather jacket, black jeans and black boots. The only thing he wore that wasn't black was his shirt, and that was grey, so it was basically a lighter hue of the same theme—and _honestly?_ He looked like he was playing Derek dress up. None of this felt right.

" _What!?"_ I glanced wildly around the hall and pushed Isaac back out of the masses, forgetting entirely about the two boys I'd been speaking two, and didn't stop pushing him until we were backed into a corner of the hallway. "What the _hell_ are you doing here!?"

"Hey, relax," He chuckled, pushing my hands off of his shoulders. "Derek didn't tell you?"

"Tell me _what_ , that today seemed like a good day for Isaac to go back to _jail_ —"

"No, he figured out a way to get the cops off my tail." He frowned, trying to catch my frantic gaze. My mind was a whirlwind, and my best defense mechanism was spiraling out of control. The anger was boiling so hot that I could _taste_ it. "Wow, he really didn't tell you, did he?"

"Tell me _what_? Isaac?"

He frowned at me, just as surprised as I seemed to be, and slowly, his face hardened, and he backed away. "You don't know anything, do you?"

"What?" I asked, the frustration causing me to go slightly manic. "Isaac, you better start talkin', because I'm about to get pissed off—"

He shook his head and continued backing way from me. "I'm sorry, Savannah," And it looked like it truly pained him as he melted into the crowd and joined Erica. She watched me for a second, a confused frown on her face, but eventually joined him.

It took a moment for my brain to catch up with what just happened, but when it did I started after them. A hand clutched my elbow and pulled me to a stop, and I struggled to keep my eyes on Isaac's disappearing head of curls as he continued down the hall. I yanked my elbow out of their grasp, turning to hiss at Scott.

"Savannah," His voice was every bit as confused and dreadful as it probably should be, but I was too confused to really bring myself to care, and I tried to step past him and Stiles, but they cornered me. "Wait! Wait a second, what's going on?"

"I don't know!" I snapped, bringing a hand up to tug at my ponytail. "Isaac is here, and—" I broke off and looked back at Scott's earnest brown eyes, anger still controlling my erratic heart beat. "I don't know _what's_ going on."

His jaw set as he looked at their retreating forms. "I do." I stepped forward, silently demanding him to tell me what he knew, and he looked back at me with hard eyes. "Derek is going behind your back."

"What?" I almost scoffed. "No, he—" I paused, looking back at where Isaac and Erica had disappeared to. "….That _son of a bitch._ " I said lowly. "Why?" I looked back at the clueless boys standing in front of me. "It doesn't make sense! _He's_ the one who's always preaching to me about _trust_ and _honesty!"_

Why would Derek tell the entire pack to lie to me?

 _You'll back out_.

I thought back to the pow-wow I had interrupted last night when I came back to the warehouse, and suddenly something clicked in place.


	28. Stunned

About time for anyone telling you off for all your deeds

No sign the roaring thunder stopped in cold to read

No time

I get mine and make no excuses; waste of precious breath

 _\- I'm So Sorry, by Imagine Dragons_

* * *

Being a werewolf has a number of perks. Enhanced… well, everything. Bigger, better, faster—stronger. This is both a blessing and a curse. I'm still fairly new to the whole deal, but there are perks to it that I feel I've mastered.

I can hear over absurdly great distances. I can see things that I'd never even thought to look for, feel things I'd never noticed. The way grass bends in the breeze; the skid of shoes across pavement; the reverberation of the bass in a car stereo on the windows of buildings as they pass by. Greenberg's stomach growling like a grizzly bear being poked with a stick—six halls away from me. The vibrations from the springs in a pen being pressed tightly together before its abrupt release. The pressure change of a room as a door is opened and cold air rushes in, forcing the heat to flood outside.

Of course, one thing I'd failed to consider was how my emotions can pinpoint all of these enhancements onto one single track. Right now, that track is headed straight for Derek Hale.

I didn't care what it took. I didn't care that I'd miss school; I didn't care that I'd miss another therapy session (I'd planned to actually stop by her office sometime today), and I _definitely_ didn't care that I'd miss a detention—none of it mattered. It all fell into background noise.

I didn't even pause to explain myself to Scott and Stiles. I turned away, eyes blazing, focusing on the exit as I stormed down the hallway.

I took my time getting there, at first stopping in the woods to reason it all out before I confronted him. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Obviously, they planned to do something about the Kanima. But what? And why wouldn't they tell me? Are they honestly worried I'd interfere? They think it's Jackson! I hate Jackson! Why would I stop them from hurting him?

All that pitstop did is psych me up even more. I left the woods more pissed and confused than ever, speeding through the trees to the warehouse.

I pushed the door open so hard that the rusted thing bashed into the railing of the stairs. The noise was deafening, and if there was ever any doubt of my heightened strength, it had just vanished.

Derek came tearing out of the cart, ready for whatever enemy dared to come his way, his crimson eyes gleaming in the dank warehouse. Seeing him only fanned the flames of my fury, and I felt the fire swelling in my throat like dragon. I wanted to see him burn. There was a fleeting expression of confusion that crossed his face when he saw me, but it disappeared even faster than it'd appeared. Still, I saw it, and it only mad me madder. "Savannah?"

Quietly, calculatingly, I descended the steps. He glanced over my shoulder, as if waiting for someone else to follow me down the steps.

"What's going on?" He asked.

"Funny, I was going to ask the same thing." I snarled, stopping at the foot of the steps to cross my arms at him. He stood in front of the cart, unapologetic and knowing full well what this was about. I took a deep breath and focused on the ground momentarily before slowly looking up to lock gazes with him. "What's Isaac doing back at school?"

"I thought he'd have told you." Derek tilted his head at me like some smug politician, and I cracked my knuckles. If he were just about anyone else I would've attacked him by now.

"I thought you'd have told me," I spat. "Isn't that our deal? Total honesty? You said you wanted me to _stay_ , Derek! Why?"

"Because you—"

"Shut up!" I screeched, my voice suddenly echoing in the warehouse. Derek looked a little surprised at my outburst, understanding slowly coloring his features. "I didn't come here to get answers. The truth is, I don't _want_ to know anymore."

He frowned, his jaw clenching. "You're overreacting."

" _Fuck_ you," I ground out. "You're so sure that I'm ready to _sabotage_ whatever plan you have that you _lied_ to me. You're hiding something from me! The last thing you've wanted for weeks is Isaac to go back to school. You want him close by. And now, he shows up in the halls this morning?" I shook my head and bitterly smiled, clenching my fists tightly. "And it's not something that would set me off, not like this—except—why? Why would he suddenly show up at school? Because you want as many people there as possible to handle this Kanima thing, but apparently that plan can't include me anymore." I shook my head and looked down, resignation settling inside me. My eyes burned with the sting of betrayal.

"Did you bite Jackson?" I frowned and paused, my vision blurring as I practically begged him to be honest with me. Finally, to tell me everything. "How about Scott? Didja bite him, too? I mean—why not! You bit everyone else!" I laughed bitterly, tearfully, and swiped angrily at my cheek.

Derek simply watched me with his jaw set and shook his head.

A small spark of hope flickered in my chest. "You didn't bite Scott? Who bit him?"

He looked away, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

And then the hope was extinguished with a fizzle. I snorted bitterly and took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling to stave off the tears.

"You think I don't know you." My fingers tightened, my claws digging into my palms. "I do," I nodded, my voice tight. "I know your family died in a fire. Didn't they?" He stepped forward, finally reacting to my obvious jibe. "The people who meant the _most_ to you, burned alive. That's what the papers said. Everyone you love, dead, burned. _Gone_. I know you're all alone in the world. Or… you were," I turned away and crossed my arms. "You went out and made your own little pack, didn't you Derek? And you started with me. Why'd you pick me?" I turned back and tilted my head at him "Is it because you thought I would be easy to control?"

He kept unsettlingly quiet, and I knew I had hit the nail on the head.

"You took me in, picked me off the streets and gave me this—this _gift_. You showed me a whole different way of living. You—" I paused, my throat suddenly tightening with emotion. I waited until it passed to start again. "You saw a girl who was struggling just to _walk_ , and you picked her because you knew she had the least to lose. You saw how hard she tried just to forget she wasn't dead, so you gave her another way to _live_."

I swiped angrily at my eyes and let out a hysterical grumble as I shook my head and tried to get myself together. "I don't know why you lied," I said, my throat aching with the strain of my emotions. "It doesn't matter. I'm done. I'm _finished_ trying to convince you that you can trust me, trying to prove myself to someone who can't stop being suspicious long enough to _see_ me. I don't think you know what it feels like to—" I couldn't finish the sentence, my shaking fingers clenching back into fists. " _Christ_ , Derek! I can't even trust you to tell me when you've found a way to get Isaac back in school. How can you expect me to trust you enough to plot the _murder_ of one of my classmates with you? How can you expect me to hop on board with someone like you? I mean—"

Did he ever feel like he should be honest with me? Did he ever doubt what he was doing when he lied to me? "I can't. I can't _do_ this anymore!" I turned my back to him and headed for the stairs. My steps were quick, as I rushed away before he could say something that would make me want to stay.

I waited, but his voice never came. Despite my better judgment, when I got to the top of the stairs I turned my head and paused without facing the warehouse. Waiting. Listening. Hoping that he would finally speak, finally say _something_ that could make all of this okay.

But it never came, so I left.

* * *

The door of the daycare jingled, and the sounds of cars rushing over the wet pavement outside were muted as I stepped inside. A new woman was sitting at the desk. I vaguely wondered if the last one had been fired as I approached slowly, cautiously.

I glanced up into the wall of mirrors behind the desk and froze in my tracks. The face that stared back at me was almost unrecognizable. Life with Derek, down in the warehouse, meant that food was a pretty low hung priority in our lives. Pizza was the main course that we had, but unless I went to get it we usually went without. There was the one time that Boyd had brought back an absurd amount of nachos and corndogs—on his last day at the ice rink. But that's the only other time someone other than me had gone out of their way to find food for the pack.

My hair was still up, but pieces had fallen down. They curled at the ends, framing a gaunt, exhausted face that _sort_ of looked like mine. Except this face was paler than it had been in a very long time… not since I was a human, dependent on drugs. Not since I was broken. Not since I was weak, and scraping the bottom of the barrel and begging for scraps—or, more accurately, stealing them. The brown in my eyes had dulled from a warm chocolate to the hard trunk of a dead lifeless tree. My mouth looked like it was permanently etched with a deep frown—like if I ever smiled again my face might crack right down the middle like a statue.

"Oh, hi there… Can I help you with somethin', hon? You need to sign someone up for daycare?"

I blinked and looked away from the ghost who stared limply back at me. The woman had a black and pink patterned shirt on, and she was a bit heavy-set. She had short brown, badly highlighted hair and bright, curious blue eyes that were currently trailing uncertainly over my form.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts and rested my hand on the counter. "No, no I was looking for someone." Her face remained carefully blank, and I realized she would not be nearly so easy to fool. Surprisingly, I found that I didn't have the energy to even try and trick her, so I went for honesty. "I was wondering if my nephew was feeling up for a visitor."

"And what's his name?" She asked as she turned towards the computer and began pecking away at the keyboard.

I hesitated and frowned. "Uh, Wi—William." _Don't call the cops._

"Last name?"

My eye twitched. "Carmichael. William Carmichael."

She hummed, her eyes sliding suspiciously over to me as she abruptly stopped typing. "Oh, I remember him. He was the one with the dinosaurs, wasn't he?"

Something in my chest stirred at the description. "Yes."

"Yes, yes, that's what I thought," She sighed and looked over my shoulder, her eyes unfocused as she noisily tried to remember. "Hmm, well, let's see now—it's been a good bit since I've seen him around here. His momma and him relocated—"

I jerked, ice running through my veins as my grip on the counter tightened to the point of almost breaking it in half. "What?" I managed, my intensity taking the woman aback.

"Relocated. They moved daycares." She blinked but before I could ask, she continued. "To the another one on the other side of Beacon Hills. It caters to older children. Apparently that June recommended a change of pace, but Will was a smart cookie, so it didn't surprise any of us. He'll make their heads spin with all those adorable dino facts!"

A breath I didn't even know I'd been holding whooshed out of my lungs, and I took a moment to slow my racing heart. "…Right." I breathed. "Of course. I'll just call them."

And without waiting for a response, I strode towards the door. She might've continued trying to talk to me, but I ignored her as I stepped back onto the street.

The clouds had gathered some time after I stormed out of the warehouse, and I looked up and down the streets. That daycare was my ace in the hole. I knew if I was going to get into contact with Rex, it had to be through there. It was my only channel. I couldn't go to their house, because Maria had made it clear that she fully intended to call the police on me if I ever showed up unannounced again. I wouldn't put it past her to do something stupid, like get a restraining order.

Well, I guess there's only one thing to do. I turned to stride purposefully down the street, the rain having lightened to a gentle mist, and my hands clenched into fists as I crossed traffic and jogged across the parking lot of the strip mall.

This Best Buy didn't have much of a selection, no more than any other Best Buy—but it had a pay phone. The familiar, unique smell of plastic hit my nostrils. You know the smell, the one that only Best Buys seemed to have—but I didn't go inside. It only hit me when I strode past the entrance and the doors slid open, and the cool air kissed the damp skin of my bare legs.

I looked up when a car door shut, spotting a man getting into a truck, a blue Best Buy bag scrunched tightly in his fist. I could hear him as he stuck the key into his ignition and turned it, and the truck's engine rumbled like a waking beast.

The payphone was old and probably harbored all kinds of diseases, and I almost smacked my head in disbelief when I realized I needed change to use the stupid thing. The truck went past me and I could hear the man singing along to some ho-down-country song, and I rolled my eyes as I tried to think of what to do.

The need to hear Rex's voice was almost overwhelming, so I decided to go ahead and dig in my pockets. Maybe a leprechaun visited—my fingers hit something smooth and plastic, and I slowly pulled out the slender gym membership. Derek's face stared back at me and I almost snapped the thing in half. But then I remembered that a card wasn't the only thing I'd taken from his wallet—I mean, after all. Come on. This is me we're talking about.

I also took two twenties and all of the change he had, which wasn't much. Two nickels, a dime, and a quarter. I rolled my eyes at his lame variety of change and put in the quarter and dime, ignoring the nickel it spat back at me.

The phone rang, and I waited with bated breath. What would I say to her? How could I convince her to let me speak with him? How could I express to her the relief that he brings me, the relief I so desperately need… I didn't have the energy to get angry that she didn't tell me she'd moved daycares. In fact, theres a chance that I'm the reason why, and some small part of me couldn't blame her. Last time I'd seen Rex, I'd dragged him out of daycare and taken him for pizza while I was high as a kite. As much as I absolutely _loathe_ to admit this, I would _never_ want anyone else to take Rex anywhere when they've just swallowed an obscene amount of pills. So… She's not wrong. With every ring, my heart sank deeper and deeper into my toes.

"Hello,"

I gasped and opened my mouth.

"You've reached the Carmichaels." My eyes slid shut and I felt another little piece of my heart whither into itself. But still, I held out hope—maybe Rex found his way into the message somehow? "Please leave your name and number, and we'll get back to you as soon as we can. Thanks! Byyye."

The harsh beep screeched through my ear, and I bashed the phone down onto the receiver again and again, focusing all of my frustration into the stupid plastic. Someone cleared their throat behind me, and I whirled on my heels to spot an old man, raising his eyebrows at me expectantly. He wanted the phone.

Knuckles white, I slowly turned back to the booth and hung the phone up. I indulged a moment to take a deep, slow breath before exiting and shoving my hands down into my pockets as I strode away.

* * *

The last place I wanted to go was back to school, but my options were limited. I suppose I could've turned to the streets again, but to be honest they'd basically used up all of their usefulness for me. And besides that I knew that I might have to return to them tonight because… well, I couldn't imagine going back to the warehouse. And I had no other place to stay, so…

I was in the courtyard, twirling a cigarette between my fingers. To light, or not to light?

"Hey," Stiles called from behind me. "There you are! We've been looking for you _everywhere!_ " I sighed and lifted my eyes to the sky as he quickly approached me. Currently, I was perched on my usual windowsill, and he seemed a little more frantic than usual. "What the hell happened?!"

I lifted the cigarette, holding it between two fingers and twirling it slowly so he could see. "I found this, smushed in a pack at the bottom of my locker." He frowned, gesturing as if to ask me who gave a crap. I pursed my lips and considered the small, seemingly harmless roll of cancer. "I wonder what would happen if I smoked this? I mean—I can't get sick, right? I already know pills are useless. But what about this?" I paused. "Or alcohol, for that matter. Do you think I can get drunk?"

When I looked at Stiles, he seemed to be restraining himself from snapping at me. He stared at me for a moment, clearly at war with himself, but when I didn't budge he finally caved and sighed. "O-Okay," He grudgingly obliged, moving forward. He put his hand out slowly, his fingers splayed as if to tell me he wasn't going to try anything rash, and I simply watched him as he slowly lowered his hand to mine and plucked the cigarette from between my fingers. I let him, watching as he quickly flicked it on the ground and stomped it.

"Well that was uncalled for," I quipped, and he scrunched his face and shook his head.

"Agree to disagree. I don't know what that crap would do to you, but I hear it's not good—so, I think that's one question better left unanswered." We both paused as we let that thought soak in, and I silently expanded on the question of whether alcohol would affect me or not in my mind. "Hey," Stiles suddenly chirped, dragging my attention back to him. "You know what question _should_ be answered?" I blinked at him. "Where the hell have you been!?" He lifted his hands as if to impress upon me the significance of his question.

I sighed. "I yelled at Derek."

Whatever he'd been expecting me to say, that _clearly_ wasn't it. He froze and gawked at me, his mouth hanging open, as his brain slowly worked to decode the meaning of my words. "You… what?"

I rubbed my nose and looked away. "Yeah, I mean… I'm pretty sure I'm not in his pack anymore." Clenching my jaw angrily, I looked down and put whatever emotions welled up at that thought on lockdown.

Stiles seemed at a loss for words. I could feel his incredulous stare on me as I picked at the sleeve of my new shirt, and he suddenly shifted. "Well… how? What happened?"

I puffed a breath through my lips, blowing a raspberry as I lifted my eyes to the sky again. "Let's—I mean, can we _not_ talk about that?"

I tried to force some venom into it, and I know that the sentiment was implied because it's my modus operandi, but it sounded flat even to my ears. Stiles watched me for another minute before finally, he quietly agreed and neither of us spoke for a breath.

I looked back up at him. "They tested Lydia," he said, and I felt my eyebrows shoot up.

"Hmm," I thoughtfully hummed. I considered it for half a second. "…Nah."

"I know!" He cried, throwing his hands at me. "That's what I said!" I watched him practically hop around with enthusiasm, and for a moment I was distracted from my intense brooding pity-party I'd been throwing myself. "Holy crap, _where_ have you been!? Everyone keeps saying that she's _cold,_ so clearly she's the only candidate left—"

"Well, did she pass?" I interrupted, bringing a thumb up to my lips. A strangled noise left his throat and I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Words, Stiles. I know you but I don't know you _that_ well."

He looked over at a bush and casually stepped away, mumbling something into his shoulder.

"What was that?" I tilted my head as if I needed to hear him better, but we both knew that was crap. I heard him. I just wanted to make a point.

His eyes narrowed at me and he crossed his arms. "It doesn't _prove_ anything, right?"

My eyebrows scrunched together. "It proves that she's Diablo." He snorted in surprise. "You ever get close enough to check the back of her skull when you were sniffing her hair?" He practically turned pink on the spot, choking on his own words. "Betcha there's a six-six-six somewhere in those red locks—"

"Strawberry blonde," He managed, and I raised my eyebrows at him. "The only thing on her perfect head is strawberry blonde hair!"

I scoffed. "Whoa, Stiles. Dial the fangirl back a few notches— _please_ , I can't deal with you when you're like this—"

"Shut up," He snapped, and my eyes narrowed and he hesitated.

A beat passed. "So who are they?"

He exhaled briefly before frowning in confusion. "Who is who?"

I smirked. "Who am I? No, who are you?"

"What?"

I swallowed a laugh and waved him off. "You said _they_ tested Lydia. Who's they?"

Understanding dawned on his face. "Ohhh… Um." His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, and I felt my face harden—any trace of ease it'd gained since we started speaking completely drying up.

"Oh." I said lowly, and he grimaced.

"Yeah. That's what they lied to you about, huh?" I scrunched my eyes and nodded bitterly, and Stiles paused. "You don't want to…" He trailed off, looking at me expectantly, but I only frowned at him. "I mean, you don't still want to…"

"Oh," I looked away and mockingly smirked. "You're asking if I still think we should kill the Kanima now that there's a chance that it's your childhood crush?" He put his hand out to silently confirm my words, and I sighed. "I guess Derek was about one thing." Stiles started to take my words the wrong way, immediately bristeling and gearing up to argue, but I put my hand up to silence him. "He said that he thought I would back out."

Stiles' mouth popped open, but no words came out.

I looked away and ran a hand over my hair. "Lydia isn't the Kanima." I said, without a shadow of a doubt in my voice. "She might be spoiled, but that's the worst part of her. She's not…" I trailed off and shook my head, unable to finish my thought.

"Evil," Stiles interjected, and though I felt the word might be a tad dramatic, I accepted it. "Well… in that case… Er, I don't have to tell you that Derek isn't gonna give up."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "He's a dog with a bone," I dryly commented, and Stiles winced at the pun. "Sorry—I couldn't resist… but I guess you're right. He didn't lie to me so he could have a sudden question of morality. He's going to try to kill the Kanima, no matter who it is, and right now it seems like Lydia is the strongest contender. She's the only one who wasn't effected by the poison. To Derek, that's as good as a death sentence."

Stiles nodded. "And you know we can't let that happen."

For the hundredth time, I rolled my eyes to the sky. "Oh no, is this how it's gonna be? Now that I'm not with Derek, you and Scott—"

"Do you want them to kill her?" Stiles suddenly interrupted, his tone more passionate than I'd expected. My eyes snapped back down at him, and he took a step forward. "Is that what you want? To look the other way when your pack—when _Isaac_ is dragged into do something like—committing _murder?_ "

My eyes narrowed. "Isaac's chosen his side."

"Really? You of all people know it's not that easy," Stiles reasoned, and I clamped my mouth shut. He had a point. "So… what do you say?"

I looked up at him. He stared back at me, his eyes determined, with maybe just a hint of desperation wafting from him. I sighed. "Are you asking me if I want to help make Derek's life difficult?" I let a smirk that I didn't truly feel tug my lips up. "Stiles, look at who you're talking to. Of _course_ I'm in," I reached out and pushed him, and he let out a relieved groan.


	29. Chicken Lo Mein

"There _is_ one problem," I casually reminded, as Stiles began to grab things from his locker and stuff them into his backpack. Leaning against the one just down from his, I looked absently at my nails as he barely paused long enough to glance at me.

"What do you mean?" His chemistry book was crammed down over the top of all of his papers, probably smushing them all, and I sighed through my nose and let my eyes rove through the halls.

"Oh…" I kept my voice light, nonchalant. "It's nothing. It's just, your plan is to put together a fake study group and essentially barricade yourselves in Scott's house, because Derek is on the hunt. And… you expect me to be in this study group?" Stiles hesitated, his arm freezing in the middle of rifling through something deep within his locker and his eyes flashed up at me uncertainly. "Ignoring the fact that I've _never_ studied for anything in my life, let's look at the real problem: who we're trying to protect." Stiles slowly sat up. "Lydia has it out for me right now, because I was seen sneaking around with her boyfriend, _clothing optional_. And Jackson… well. He's not my biggest fan either," I mischievously faked a pout, as if it bothered me that these two people couldn't stand me, and Stiles sighed heavily through his nose.

"Do you have to make it your full time job to make enemies?" His voice was laced with irritation, as if he was dealing with a child who'd just drawn all over the walls with permanent marker, and I grinned at his discomfort. "If you haven't insulted someone's mom in a while, do you get itchy?... Antsy? Do you feel like you can't sit still for another second without—"

"Listen to you," I teased. "What would your father say?"

He sighed and reached back into his locker to continue digging for something. My curiosity was piqued as he strained to untangle something, knocking books and papers everywhere, water bottles rolling into the hall behind him as he tugged on it. "He would probably—" _Yank_ , "Be letting me know _exactly_ how irresponsible," _Tug_ , "He thinks," _Wrench_ , "Our plan is, which would just," He gave a final pull as he said the next part, falling back into the floor. "Piss me off!"

I looked at what was wrapped around his hands. I knew the noise was familiar, but for some reason I just didn't expect him to be trying to untangle a chain from his locker. The links were thick—thick enough to restrain a rabid werewolf for at least a little bit. Or a Kanima. Long enough to get away, I'd say. I raised an eyebrow and he quickly sat up before anyone could notice he was trying to pry a long chain out of his locker.

"My," I smirked. "You and Scott still trying stuff out? Just to see how it feels?"

"Ha ha," He said dryly, and I giggled maniacally as he thrust it into his pack. "It's insurance, for your information."

"Insurance?"

"Well," He zipped his back and finally stood up. "Just in case you've forgotten, Allison and I are human. And so is Lydia." I looked pointedly at him and he stubbornly slid the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. "She _is_. Which makes her vulnerable. So excuse me if I feel like we might need a few extra precautionary—"

"Oh, and how will you explain chaining Jackson up? We can't even think of a way to explain _me_ being there."

Stiles drew in a frustrated breath. "I don't know, Savannah! Tell them you're failing chemistry."

I paused, looking away to mull this suggestion over thoughtfully. It's not like I owed them an explanation. I mean, my presence might make it more difficult for them to trust and/or believe the scenario, but… "I guess I could just be waiting at Scott's house. I could go ahead of you guys."

Stiles sighed in relief, his tense shoulders sagging a bit as he gestured a thankful hand. "There! See? That's a great idea. You can just—oh, do you need a key?" I raised an eyebrow at him and he paused for half a second before catching up, his voice dull with sarcasm. "Right. Who am I asking? Of course you don't. Okay then, I have to go before school is out and Lydia leaves. Allison and I will bring them there, and you can… uh... actually, you better come up with a different excuse than studying. Tell them you're there for something else, it doesn't matter what, but be ready!"

"Fine," I let a bit of my irritation slip into my voice, and Stiles started backing away to begin phase one of kidnapping the Kanima. "But you're on your own with explaining those chains!"

* * *

As I sat in Scott's living room, I continually glanced up at the clock. It's too quiet in this house.

There's not a lot to distract me from the incessant ticking—nothing but my thoughts, and I wasn't too keen on focusing on those. It was sort of difficult to ignore them as I sat there with nothing to do though, so I focused them on _anything_ but my former pack.

Honestly, Lydia is a lot of things, but evil is not one of them. I wondered how my pack could so pitilessly decide that her life isn't worth living anymore? I mean, it's _Lydia_. She's about as threatening as… an anklebiter. Annoying, loud, prissy… Not freakish lizard hybrid material. Not something that's so strong that it can overpower an alpha.

Inevitably, my thoughts turned to my pack. I was worried about them, as much as it grates me to admit. Mostly I was concerned for Isaac. How could he be okay with this? I'm a pretty unsympathetic person, that's no secret… but even I have reservations about cold-blooded murder. I realize the Kanima has done just that. Isaac's dad, for one, but that was no great loss. I also heard that it slaughtered some mechanic.

Why? Two adults—completely unrelated, no relationship that I could think of that would tie them together. Does the Kanima know them? Or is it just blindly killing people?

Jackson is Isaac's neighbor, so that could explain either he or Lydia knowing who his dad is. But the mechanic? I had no clue. There's no way to know without speaking with them. Or perhaps doing some research, but I'm not so sure that's worth the time.

My stomach suddenly growled, the familiar pang of hunger gurgling through it. I sighed and brought a hand up to pat it.

Restless, I stood from the couch and began to roam around the living room. On top of one of the side tables there was a lamp, and beside that there was a picture frame. I reached down to bring it closer.

Scott and Stiles were together, a few years younger, posing in front of the sign of an amusement park. In the picture, it was obvious that the theme park was decorated to the nines for Halloween. I felt an unbidden wash of envy—which took me aback. I quickly set the frame down and turned away.

 _What the hell?_ I guess... a small part of me said it's not so crazy for me to feel jealous of what they have. I mean, while I was in and out of court, these two were running around haunted mazes and waiting in line for rollercoasters. I'd heard of rollercoasters, and seen them in movies. Read about them in books… I heard advertisements for new ones on the radio what seemed like every year. But I'd never ridden one. I'd never even seen one in real life. I read a book once where two characters made a game of who could spot the first rollercoaster stretching over the trees on their drive to an amusement park.

Maybe _that's_ why I'm jealous. Maybe I'm craving a little normalcy—a little _childhood_ in my life. Maybe I wanted the chance to try and ride every single ride at a scream park without throwing up. Maybe I wanted to go to a haunted maze where people dressed up as clowns and chased me with chainsaws.

Maybe… but that's not my life. That's never been my life. I have to worry about more realistic things, like what I'm going to say to Lydia and Jackson when they get here and find me waiting in Scott's house.

And then there are more natural dilemmas, like the growling in my stomach. I stopped in front of his fridge, looking over a note Scott's mother had pinned to the fake steel explaining she'd be at work late tonight. I didn't even pause before yanking the door open.

Plenty of drinks, but I chose a bottle of water. I almost shut it, but then my eyes snagged on the white cardboard of Chinese take out and I hesitated.

Should I?

I turned around, box in hand, and peeked inside. _Chicken lo mein._ I raised my eyebrows appreciatively and began to rifle through their drawers, searching for a fork, when I heard the front door open. Feet shuffled across the wooden floors, and then the door quickly shut again. The sound of the lock turning in the door followed almost as soon as it closed.

"Uhh… there's been a few break-ins around the neighborhood." Stiles' voice trickled through the walls, and I smirked at his lame excuse. Curious as to why he would say that, I continued to chomp away at Scott's food and strolled through the hall.

I paused in the doorway and playfully pursed my lips as Lydia jumped in surprise at my sudden appearance. Emotions flitted across her open, pretty face—first fright, and then confusion.

"Break-ins?" I mused, glancing around as the other four twirled around to gawk at me. "Hmph. That's strange... the door was unlocked when I tried it. Kinda hard to break in when it's wide open." I raised the fork to my mouth innocently.

"You!" Jackson growled, taking a measured step away from me even though I was across the room. His lip was curled in disgust; his fists clenched outrage and cheeks turning pink from outrage. "What is _she_ doing here?"

"Are you eating Scott's food?" Stiles suddenly asked, and I winked at him. Allison stayed quietly in the back, watching all of this unfold with a measured gaze.

"I was just going to ask the same question," Lydia hissed, her eyes flitting accusingly between Jackson and I.

"Yes I am eating Scott's food." I smirked brightly at Lydia, knowing that she meant she agreed with _Jackson's_ question. "Why, did you want some?"

She reared back like she was about to let me know exactly how little she cared about what I was or was not consuming, when Jackson interrupted her. "Never mind that! This wasn't part of the plan," Jackson threw an acidic, accusatory glare at Stiles, who had remained quiet after his silly question since he had no clue what I planned my excuse to be.

"I'm _waiting_ for someone," I vaguely replied, turning to retreat farther into the kitchen as I continued to eat.

"Who?" Jackson snapped, apparently not content with that response as he shoved past Stiles to get answers from me.

"Um," I feigned confusion, glancing around the kitchen. "Wait a minute… is this not Scott's house? Did I come to the wrong address?"

"Why are _you_ waiting for Scott? Is stealing _one_ boyfriend not enough for you? And since when do you set your aim so high—"

As Lydia yammered on, I raised my eyebrows silently at Stiles when he trailed in behind them, mutely mocking his choice in women. His eyebrows twitched, which I knew was his silent way of telling me to can it, and I smirked before refocusing on Lydia.

"I'm sorry, what was that last part? Trying to concentrate on what you say through the sound of your voice is like—trying to read a chalkboard while someone scrapes their nails down it."

Her mouth popped open, apparently surprised by that particular insult, and I felt a small surge of victory.

"All right," Stiles cut in between us, rushing up to me and giving me a short-lived death glare as he turned back to Lydia. "She's probably here to… ah, Savannah, why don't you tell them?"

I took a challenging step towards Lydia, "I'm here to—"

"She's here because I asked her to be." Allison suddenly declared.

"What?" Lydia's voice was the epitome of a hiss. She rounded on Allison like she'd just announced that she the school was employing a new dress code. "That's not possible," She denied, her voice shrill in its slightly psychotic tone. "That's not possible because you know how I feel about her! And you're my best friend! So I know you would never—"

"See?" Allison snapped, surprising Lydia enough for her to snap her mouth shut. "This is why. I'm tired of feeling like I have to choose a side all the time! Guess what, Lydia? I happen to _like_ Savannah."

"You what?" Jackson sneered.

I glanced at him, my jaw slightly slack. "Yeah, you what?"

Allison continued as if it had been Lydia to ask the questions. "She's not afraid to speak her mind, and she stands by what she believes in. She's the toughest girl I know, and she's the only person I've met who's unafraid of making the hard calls—while still having the conscience to recognize that they're wrong."

Um. Thanks? I think.

Silence descended on Scott's house, as we all fumbled over ourselves and tried to form a coherent thought.

"She—she _attacked_ me!" Jackson seethed.

"You provoked her," Allison easily dismissed, and I couldn't help but stare at her in a stunned silence. Jackson straightened, immediately glancing over at Lydia as if caught red handed. I watched in fascination as Allison took another step forward. "I heard from Danny what you said to her. I'm not saying it was right, but I think it's fair to say that it was justified."

"This is just great," Jackson sneered, backing away towards the hallway. "You can all hold hands and pretend nothing's wrong, but as long as she's here, I'm leaving!"

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and sighed. This is _not_ going well.

"Jackson!" Lydia cried, scrambling after him in her heels. "Wait for me!" My eye twitched as I watched Stiles chase after her.

"Guys, don't leave! You can't—" His voice faded a bit as they rushed into the foyer, and I turned my attention onto Allison.

"Well," I said, amusement dancing in my voice. "I had no idea you had such a girl crush on me."

She rolled her eyes. "We're here for a reason." She set her bag down and came to join me at the kitchen table. I wasn't sitting, but I did still have the take out in my hands, and I stood behind it. "I can still change my mind about you."

I sighed and dug through the noodles. "You probably will." The chair squeaked as I pulled it out and plopped down, stuffing a knot of food into my mouth.

"How can you eat that cold?" Her nose wrinkled and I chewed thoughtfully.

"The same way I eat everything else," I said, mouth full, and the tiniest smile played at her lips.

"Smart ass."

Swallowing, I set the carton down and shifted. "So, who do you think it is?"

She blinked at me. I raised my eyebrows, and understanding dawned on her face. She sent me a dark look. "I'm not going to talk about that like it's some game."

I put my hands up. "Whoa, whoa, _whoa_ , Ally," Her eyes narrowed the nickname. "All I did was ask a simple question." She looked away, apparently disinterested to engage with my witty, provoking conversation. I looked at the doorway for a moment before speaking again. "So, just so we're clear, that means you _won't_ take my hundred bucks on Jackson?"

She turned back, probably to yell at me, but I turned towards the doorway. "I definitely wouldn't bet against Jackson," Stiles advised, wagging his finger at Allison as he walked back into the kitchen. "Because you'll _lose_."

"Ah," I glanced over his shoulder. "Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum in the other room?"

Stiles sighed and pulled out the chair next to Allison. "Somehow, I managed to convince them to stay, but they only agreed as long as _you_ stay in here."

"Joke's on them!" I swiped up the container of lo mein and began to pile it on my fork again. "This is where the food is at."

"Well, I think Jackson needed to talk to her anyways," Allison sighed and I watched the conflicting emotions project across Stiles' face.

"Lovers' quarrel," I deduced, taking another bite. "Best to stay out of it."

Stiles mumbled something, standing to go look out the window. Allison and I exchanged a secretive, amused grin and I looked back to the food.

"Awww," I pouted. "It's empty!"

"Well it wasn't yours to begin with," Stiles observed from his spot at the window. He pulled a curtain back and looked around, his nose practically pressing into the glass as his breath fogged it up.

"Pshaw," I dismissed, waving him off. "Finder's keepers."

"I don't think that rule applies here," Allison good-naturedly interjected. I gave her my best withering look, but she seemed rather unaffected.

"Of course it does. I found this, unclaimed, up for grabs in their fridge."

"In _their_ fridge. In their private kitchen. In their _locked_ house." Stiles leaned away momentarily to send me a meaningful look. "It doesn't apply here." I scowled at him and he leaned forward to continue watching. "You know, I think I'm beginning to see why your morals are so skewed. You never—"

I jerked up, the chair screeching against the hardwood. Stiles and Allison both whirled around to give me wide-eyed looks.

"What?"

"It was a joke—"

"They're here." I quickly crossed the distance to the window and shoved Stiles' head out of the way. He grunted under my hand and batted at my arm, and I scanned the yard. _There_. "Looks like they all came…"

My jaw clenched when I saw Derek's form leading them away from his car, up the sidewalk, and I hastily stepped away from the window. I turned without a word and began to march into the foyer.

"Wait, Savannah! What are you doing?"

"Getting a better look," I called, and pulled the slender curtain aside that covered each window on either side of the door.

" _Do they know we're here?"_ Isaac asked, and I set my jaw as I breathed out through my nose when they came to a stop just at the foot of the steps. I let the curtain fall and took a step back.

"What are they saying?" Allison whispered, right as Boyd spoke. I hissed at them to keep quiet and closed my eyes, straining my ears.

" _They know."_ Derek's tone was that of certainty, leaving no shadow of a doubt.

Isaac's turn, " _Well Erica and I should go in first, so—_ "

" _No!_ " I could faintly hear the sound of a hand grasping leather, and Isaac's grunt as Derek yanked him into place. " _You'll go when I say, and not before."_

 _"_ _Why?"_ Erica scoffed. _"They've trapped themselves in there! They're fish in a barrel."_

 _"_ _Savannah is in there."_ I could hear the scowl on Derek's face, and I didn't have to look to know that Erica sneered.

" _So what?_ "

" _So, we wait_."

"What are they waiting for?" Stiles murmured, leaning over my shoulder so he could look outside. "They're just standing there!"

I frowned, blinking at Derek as he peered up at the door—and I swear he looked me dead in the eye. I clenched my jaw and stepped away. "I'm not sure." I held my hand up to signal them to be quiet as I struggled to listen for more, but the pack had deliberately lowered their voices to make it hard for me to overhear them.

Are they waiting for me? Do they think if they stand out there long enough, I'll come charging outside? Because I might.

"Are they trying to intimidate us?" Allison frowned, and I glanced over at her briefly.

"…I'm not sure." I repeated, and Stiles grunted impatiently.

"Come on, Savannah! You know them. You _know_ Derek! What are they planning?"

I licked my lips and shifted on my feet, peeking through the curtain but not touching it. I stared at it for a few moments as I struggled to gather my jumbled thoughts before running an anxious hand through my hair. "It doesn't seem like they're trying to scare us. If they were trying to scare us, they'd be banging on the doors, or the roof, or the walls, or throwing things through the windows."

Allison and Stiles shared a disturbed look, as we were all painfully reminded just how differently my mind works from theirs. I cleared my throat before continuing. "It seems like—almost like…"

"Like what?" Stiles prodded.

I looked back at his frowning face. "Like they're waiting for someone."

"What, you mean like someone new?"

"Scott, maybe." Stiles suggested, and Allison's mouth formed a small 'o'.

"No, it's more like… they're waiting for one of us."

Stiles mouth hooked to the side, that signature expression that the Stilinskis shared. "You?" He bluntly asked.

I gazed through the window again, straining my ears, only to hear their faint murmurings. "Probably not… Maybe the Kanima."

We all paused at that thought. If I applied what I knew of Derek, it seems like he would have tried to send one of us in by now. He wouldn't just crash in all at once—I mean, that would be dramatic, but the distinctly wrong _kind_ of dramatic for Derek's taste.

No, no. He would want to drag this out. He wants to test the newbies, to see if they can accomplish the seemingly simple task of going into a house and extracting a human. Surely, if he sends in two, it should get done.

And had I been with them, it probably would've by now. But I'm not. I'm in here. And that probably explains the reason he's not sent anyone yet. In fact, he said so himself. Or, he sort of did—in his Derek way, which means… he didn't say a damn thing. But if you know him like I do, you learn to read his actions. I might not know his thoughts, or even his motivations, but I can see his actions, and I can deduce a few options for what he might be planning.

Right now, I'm an unforeseen complication. When he'd planned this whole thing, he'd probably been banking on the assumption that I would be there to back him up, or trapped in detention. But since I've, ah, _switched teams_ essentially, I've really thrown a wrench in his plans. Ironic, isn't it? If only he'd _told_ me his plans from the beginning—maybe things wouldn't have turned out the way they are. Maybe he wouldn't be out there, and I wouldn't be in here.

I focused on my hearing. They were quiet now, truly waiting for something. I tugged the curtain back and peered out.

Isaac stood apart from Boyd and Erica a bit, looking at Derek briefly before glancing up at Scott's house.

I sighed and ran a hand over my hair, leaning back. "Whatever they're doing, it seems like they'll be there until something changes."

Moving away from the window, I suddenly stepped across the foyer.

"Savannah!" Stiles called, scrambling behind me. I kept walking until he grabbed my arm. "Where are you going!? We have to watch them!"

I sighed. "Look, if they want to get in here, they're getting in here. The only thing we have to do right now is wait for them to make the first move, and be prepared for when they do come knocking. Which means, if I'm still hungry, I should probably go find a snack—because this could take a while."

"But—" Stiles flailed weakly, gesturing between the door and me. "They're out there!"

"Yes," I patiently cooed at him, and he scowled. "That's right! They're out there, and we're in here." I looked away and shrugged. "That's all… for now."

He sighed and sent a troubled look to the door. "I don't like this."

"Yeah? Me either. But that's the way it is. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I can hear a cup of yogurt calling my name…"

This time when I stepped away, he didn't stop me. I went to the fridge and pulled out a blueberry flavored, low calorie package of yogurt out. As I ate, I settled at the dining table and mulled over the pack waiting outside.

Several minutes passed. The clock said it was about half an hour, but it _felt_ like ages. Lydia and Jackson were still holed up in another part of the house, having a domestic dispute, I think, and I had long ago thrown the cup of yogurt away.

Why hasn't Derek sent someone in by now? It doesn't seem right. It doesn't make any _sense_.

I overheard Allison tell Stiles she was considering calling her dad, and quickly shot out of my chair. But when I moved out from around the table, a scent caught my nose. I frowned and turned towards the back door.

"Savannah!" Allison called, stomping into the kitchen. I raised my eyebrows at her, my eyes falling to her small crossbow, and I realized she seemed pretty annoyed. " _Do_ something! They've been standing out there for almost thirty minutes. This is ridiculous!"

I threw my hands out, a tight, insincere smile making its way onto my face. "And just what is it that you suggest I should do, Allison?"

"I don't know! Go out there? Try to talk them down?"

"The only thing that would do is take one more defense out of here. Is that really what you want?"

"No, but maybe—maybe that's what needs to happen! Maybe Derek's been waiting for you to come out there!"

"Why would he do that?" I frowned, as Stiles suddenly appeared in the doorframe.

"Uh, guys," Stiles calmly interjected.

"I don't know, Savannah, you tell me!" She continued, her gaze uncharacteristically annoyed.

"What, don't tell me you think I'm _with_ them?"

Her eyebrow cocked challengingly at me, and I stiffened in indignation.

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"Guys, I counted twice, and there are only three people out there."

Allison and I paused, turning to give Stiles our undivided attention. He blinked at the abrupt topic change that he'd caused, and Allison rushed towards the foyer and demanded that he show her what he meant by _only_ three.

I started to follow them, but that same scent from before caught my attention. Just before I crossed the threshold of the kitchen into the foyer, I turned my head slowly and looked at the source of the new, sort of excited heart-rate.

"Aha, Isaac." I said, lowly. Distrustfully. " _There_ you are."


	30. Choices

He stared at me, letting a shadow of the darkened kitchen cloak him. His eyes flashed bright yellow, and I could see well enough to make out his face, tilted down as he looked at me with a cautious sort of hostility.

"How are things?" I snidely asked, slowly making my way around the table. I blocked the door to the foyer as I continued to talk. "I would say it's nice of you to stop by, but this evening I learned that it's considered _rude_ when people invite themselves into someone's home unannounced."

He continued to silently watch me, and I let my own eyes shift as the tips of my fingers burned. "Come on, Isaac." My voice was low, changing slightly as I started to shift. I was acutely aware of Stiles and Allison in the foyer, still trying to figure out where the fourth member of my pack had disappeared to. "We're friends, aren't we?"

He stepped forward, out of the shadows. " _Are_ we? Because the last time I checked, friends don't abandon friends."

"Is that what Derek told you?" I could feel the rush of anger and adrenaline as Isaac quickly became more and more hostile, crossing the kitchen so that he stood in front of me. "That I _abandoned_ you?"

"He didn't need to!"

Unhappy with the direction this conversation was taking, I tried to steer it into safer territory. "Why are you still with him, Isaac? I mean—look at you. He says jump, and you ask how high—"

" _You_ said we were in this together!" He suddenly snapped, his voice loud enough to surely catch the attention of the two in the foyer. Their frantic footsteps fell to the back of my consciousness. I stared, wide eyed, at the boy in front of me. His teeth were bared and he was panting a bit as his ears started growing to pointed ends. _Not good_.

"We are! I mean, we _can_ be. Just not with _him_!"

"Savannah?" Stiles called, barreling into the doorway behind me. He ran straight into my back and I hissed at them to get back, swiping through the air and forcing Allison to tug him out of the way even though I had no intention of actually hitting him. When they caught sight of Isaac, they gasped collectively, and Isaac's face darkened.

He let his face shift completely and took a menacing step forward. "Get out of the way, Savannah," he grunted, his voice gravelly as he spoke through the shift. "This doesn't involve you."

"Why are you doing this, Isaac?" I switched tactics, trying to appeal to another side of him. "This isn't what _you_ want! This is what _he_ wants, can't you see that? Why would you want to kill someone?"

"She killed my dad!" He roared, lunging for me. I grabbed him by the collar and swung him around, causing him to crash straight into the refrigerator. Everything stuck to the front scattered on the floor at our feet.

"Oh, yeah," I mockingly jeered. "That's _right!_ The Kanima murdered your _dear, sweet_ father." He struggled to stand erect, growling as he pushed against the fridge and it screeched across the floors a bit. I strode forward and took him by the shoulders, forcing him back into the wall as I continued. " _Please_. You're better off without him and you know it!"

As an answer, he lifted a clawed hand and swiped at my face. Their razor sharp tips scratched my cheek and I clenched my jaw through the pain, quickly throwing him onto the floor like a ragdoll. "Tell me, Isaac," I panted, touching a finger to the fresh blood that sprang to my face even as it started to heal. "How many times have you been hit since he died?"

He tried to scramble back to his feet, but I closed the distance between us and placed a heavy boot on his chest—pinning him to the floor. His growls sounded feral but young, like a puppy with a major attitude problem, and I found it overwhelmingly easy to dominate him. "I can tell you _exactly_ how many bones you've broken. Don't you remember? I _set_ them for you! Every one! I can tell you how much you've felt the need to hide, even now—even after your father's gone! And why? Because the police were after you!... You thought it was all going to end? Well, guess what? You traded one in abuser for another!"

He sank his claws into my shins as he tried to tug me off of him, flailing violently on the floor as he tried to buck me off. I leaned down and took him by the curls on his head, yanking his face up so he would look me in the eye. "Derek is a _poison_." He paused in his weak counterattacks as I spoke now. "He told you that he could give you your control back. He _used_ you! Just like he used me; just like he's using all of us. It took me a long time to see that. Too long." Isaac watched me with stormy, disturbed eyes, and I held him in place for a minute more as I said my next part. " _That's_ why I left."

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The sounds of his labored breathing filled the quiet kitchen and I could hear every single one of the pattering hearts in the house, his being the loudest because it was the closest.

I let go of him and took a step back. He lunged for me and I swung my foot out, placing a well-aimed kick to his head. He crashed into one of the cabinets and abruptly went limp, collapsing on the floor, unconscious.

I panted as I loomed over him, a swirl of emotions clouding my thoughts. Regret was the strongest, because I never wanted to leave Isaac. I never wanted him to feel abandoned because of me. But there's nothing for it, because there's no way I can go back to Derek just so Isaac isn't the odd man out.

I turned and saw Stiles lingering in the doorframe. His face was twisted with concern, but his chin was still set determinedly. Something passed between us then, some sort of understanding, but before I could open my mouth, Scott appeared over his shoulder. I glanced back at Stiles for another moment before stepping away from Isaac's limp body.

"'Bout time you showed up," I quietly growled.

Scott stepped into the kitchen and cast a tired glance around the mess we'd made. Several things were knocked from counters; spatulas and ladles, mail envelopes. I hummed apologetically as we both assessed the damage. "…Oops."

He raised an eyebrow at me but didn't say anything about it. "Are you okay?"

His question took me aback, so much so that I actually stepped away from him with my hand risen in surprise. I grappled with how to respond, my mouth hanging open as I struggled to look straight at his earnest, heartfelt gaze of concern he was sending my way. It kind of made my skin crawl, to be honest.

"I'm _fine_ ," I bit, gesturing down at Isaac's body. "Better than he is, at least."

Scott glanced back at Stiles whose expression silently told Scott not to press the matter, and I scowled at this little exchange. "Hey!" My sudden outburst snapped both of their attention back to me. "What do we do with Fido?"

"Help me get him to the door. It's time to end this." Scott finally said, picking his way over the mess to join me by his body. "Aw!" He pointed down at the empty box of Chinese food, which somehow had made its way into the mess, and pouted. "Really? I was looking forward to eating that!"

I smirked and shamelessly glanced up at Stiles and Allison. "Sorry," I bit my lip and lightly shrugged a shoulder. "I'll be more careful next time."

He sighed and started to turn back to Isaac, but did a quick double take. "Hey—wait a minute! Why's it empty?"

"We should probably get him to the door before Derek decides to bust in." I quickly interjected, taking Scott's shoulder and physically turning him back to the task at hand. I ignored the quiet snort of derision from behind me, though it was decidedly feminine so I knew it came from Allison. She can be sassy when she wants…

Turns out that Erica had also been sent in, probably after it became apparent that Isaac was coming up empty handed—and I took great pleasure in seeing her paralyzed and vulnerable on the floor.

"Oh, no," I smartly grinned. "What do we have here?" Erica's eyes flickered up to mine as she panted angrily from the floor. I could hear her heart racing, smell the frustration wafting off of her, and I felt my mood lighten ever so slightly. "And you know, the best part about this is that it had to have been a human who beat you. I bet you just _loved_ that." I whirled on my heels to glance between Stiles and Allison. "Who was it? I want to shake their hand!"

Allison smirked and humbly jerked her chin toward the door. "Later. Let's get this over with."

"Ahhh," I gently punched her shoulder and beamed at her. "I knew it was you all along!"

"Hey!" Stiles hurtfully chirped, and I laughed.

Throwing the door open, Scott reached down to pick up Isaac. My eyes landed on Derek's face rather abruptly, and I quickly tore my gaze away as I heard Stiles quietly speaking to the essentially disarmed Erica. "I'm tough, right?" He indignantly whispered, and her eyebrows scrunched as she stared wordlessly up at him. "I could've taken you down." I snickered as Scott flung Isaac into the yard like a disgruntled bouncer throwing an unruly patron from a bar.

He turned back to Erica but I quickly threw my hand out to stop him. "Wait! Let me," I said, a sadistic gleam in my eyes as he raised his eyebrows and gestured for me to go.

I let a sickly grin curl my lips as I nudged Erica with my boot, turning her over and grabbing her by the back of the jacket as I hurled her onto the grass next to Isaac. "And, stay out!" I hollered, wagging my finger at them when I stepped onto the porch. I turned back to give Stiles a wide, bright grin. "I've always wanted to be the one to say that for a change." His eyes narrowed as if to say this was _so not the time_ , and I found my attention was quickly refocused elsewhere when Derek began to finally speak.

"I think I'm finally getting why you keep refusing me, Scott," He brooded, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth pinched into a tight circle. I clenched my jaw as all the juvenile mirth I'd gleaned from the situation was stolen from me, and Derek's eyes turned to focus on me.

The tension between us was undeniable. I finally knew how it must've felt when those old cowboys would face off in a shootout, and Derek continued. "You're already an alpha… of your own pack."

The unspoken message there was that I had officially been kicked out of the pack. I felt inexplicably torn when he finally said the words aloud, the first time my desertion had been bluntly acknowledged between us since earlier that day, and he simply stared back at me.

I glanced briefly at Boyd, who still stood next to Derek, and suddenly I had the overwhelming sensation of having been replaced. My face darkened and I turned my loaded gaze back onto Derek as I stepped back behind Scott and sent my own silent message back to him.

His expression shifted, first to betrayal and anger, and then it finally—surprisingly, landed on amusement. His stupid lips tugged into a smug grin and he raised his eyebrows at Scott as he said his next part. "…But, you know you can't beat me."

My eyes narrowed into slits and my fists clenched, and when a hand touched my shoulder I nearly wheeled around to punch them. But then I saw it was Allison's sympathetic, understanding face, and I settled a bit. "No, but I can hold you off until the cops get here," Scott said, and I was overcome with a newfound respect for him. Of course. If Allison had called the Argents, it wouldn't have even slowed Derek down, because he knows he can fight them and at least _try_ to win. But the police? Now, there's a force that Derek just can't seem to shake. Like the Kanima avoids the water, Derek avoids the authorities, and they're basically the only surefire way to get him to leave in most cases. I knew this and can't help but be impressed by Scott's decision.

Not so distant police sirens rang through the night, as if to emphasize Scott's declaration, and Derek's face had hardened into a grudging realization. Just as he prepared to admit defeat, a hiss interrupted him from above us.

We all froze and my head snapped up as I listened to the sound of claws skittering across the shingles of the roof, and Scott and I both scrambled from the porch.

Allison and Stiles followed closely behind, Stiles almost barreling into me, and I reflexively reached out to steady him without looking as we both gawked up at the scaled face of the Kanima. It crawled out of a window and peeked down into the yard at us, its red and yellow slitted eyes blinking as it opened its mouth to shriek threateningly at us.

Stiles' forearm suddenly jerked out of my hand as he started forward, and I followed his gaze to see Lydia flying down Scott's stairs and onto the porch. "Would someone _please_ tell me what the _hell_ is going on!" She screeched, and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Allison.

"It's Jackson!" Scott quietly exclaimed, voicing all of our thoughts, and I watched as the Kanima leaped off the roof of his house and bound across the grass, vanishing down the street.

"What is?" Lydia's tone switched from outraged and hysterical to frantic and hysterical. She carefully hurried down the steps, balancing on her ridiculously high heels as she went. "Where is he?! Is he okay?! Is he hurt?! Oh, God, I couldn't find him—what happened—"

I nudged Stiles shoulder encouragingly, but Allison beat him to the punch. "He's fine," She said, "He just left."

"He _left?_ " Lydia gasped as Allison took her by the shoulders and steered her back towards the jeep.

"He's okay, he was just freaked out. You know Jackson…" I tuned them out, taking note of how quickly and easily Allison seemed to conjure that lie, and looked at the others who still stood around.

I wasn't surprised to find that Derek had disappeared already. Scott turned towards Stiles and they exchanged an alarmed look, and without another word, they both took off for the jeep at the same time.

I looked over at Boyd, who had curiously been left behind when Derek took off in pursuit of the Kanima. I took in a deep breath and sighed heavily down at the two incapacitated idiots at our feet. "This isn't what I wanted." I finally said, looking up at Boyd's hard, judgmental gaze.

"But it's what you chose," He said, and I tried to find something to refute that point, but I could think of nothing.

"Savannah, come on!" Stiles hollered, perched on the driver's side of the jeep, his hand on the roof. "We gotta go _now_!"

I glanced back down and waved my hand at him. "No, it's okay, go on ahead! I've… They need my help."

Scott and Allison both wheeled around to stare at me with Stiles. I paused and let out a tired sigh.

"I'll find you guys, okay? You need to go!"

"You should go with them." Boyd said from behind me. He nodded down at the two passed out on the lawn before us, and I clenched my jaw, hesitantly peering up at him. "I've got them now."

My heart clenched as I looked down at Isaac, an unwarranted surge of pain squeezing it. "I shouldn't go."

"But you want to."

My gaze flickered back up to him. He watched me, an interesting expression of understanding settling on Boyd's face.

"It's fine." He repeated. "You should go."

The horn of the jeep beeped, and I glanced over my shoulder. Scott waved a frantic hand at me and I turned back to Boyd. "Just, tell them that…" I looked down at Isaac's limp form, his face still pressed into the grass. I could see where some residual blood was drying on the neck of his jacket, and knew it was there because of me. Tell them what? I couldn't think of a single thing to say. No matter what I say, I can't think of anything that will justify what they feel is my deserting them.

"I will," Boyd said. I glanced up at him and he jerked his chin. "Go! Before they leave you."

And with that, I turned around and hopped into the open door of the jeep.

Before I'd even settled in, forcing Scott to cram in between Stiles and I, the jeep's wheels squealed on the pavement as we tore away from Scott's house. I turned to look at Scott's face, and he pressed his lips together and lowered his chin in a single nod at me. I glanced at Stiles, his face focused on driving as we tore down Scott's street, and then back at Allison and Lydia, but they were engaged in their own conversation.

Rolling down the window, I ducked my head out just as the jeep turned the corner to leave the street and strained my eyes in the night to try and see them one last time.

Scott's yard was empty, and I couldn't even spot Derek's car, but I didn't have nearly enough time to feel confused on the matter before Stiles had steered us back onto the main strip. Street lamps lit the way now, and I could see the lights of some fast food restaurants that were still open.

I settled back in the jeep with a sigh. "—off at the school real quick, so you can pick up your car."

"Okay, Savannah, do you want to come with us?" Allison asked.

"No," Lydia and I chorused at the same time. Except mine was more of an amused sneer, and Lydia's landed closer to outraged disgust.

Scott's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't dare look at me as he slid his eyes over to share a silent conversation with Stiles as he drove. My eyes narrowed and Allison broke the subsequent silence. "…Oh... kay. Well, never mind, then."

I clenched my jaw at the smallest fraction of offense I heard in her voice, and sighed heavily. Honestly, it has nothing to do with Allison. I just didn't feel like trying to make nice with Lydia Martin, or deflecting her biting little remarks about me and Jackson.

I reached up to scratch at the back of my head awkwardly as we continued to ride in silence, staring out the window as Stiles drove. I wondered if I'd made a mistake. I wondered if I should've told Boyd to bite me and stayed behind with them. But why did I really want to stay with them anyways? So that maybe, I might be able to convince them to leave Derek as well? And what did I expect—for them to join up with Scott's pack?

Yeah, _that_ was never gonna happen. And I'm not exactly leader material. Besides that, I'm not sure what I'm doing—in fact, I have no fucking _clue_ about what's going on in this town! Being with Derek has made _sure_ that I'm left in the dark on matters that I'd really be better off knowing. So… staying behind to try and justify myself to them would only have resulted in a bigger rift between us.

Maybe it was best to come with Scott. Maybe keeping my distance from all things Derek would be best for a while.

 _And how long do you expect that to last?_

I clenched my jaw and shoved that thought away. As long as it takes.

We pulled into the parking lot at school, and Scott and I both climbed out to allow Lydia and Allison to follow suit.

I waited and pretended not to have supernatural hearing when Lydia muttered under her breath at me, or when Scott and Allison began to murmur sweet love secrets to each other.

Or, well, okay… they were telling each other to be careful. But still— _ew!_ I don't need to hear that. This is one aspect to sticking around these goons that I will _not_ tolerate well; I can see that right now.

As soon as they'd all cleared out of my way I hopped back into the jeep and slammed the door shut. Turning to look at Stiles, I found him to be staring at me awkwardly and I glanced back at the dash, attempting to pretend this _wasn't_ as uncomfortable as it felt.

Finally, after the silence had stretched on for three more breaths, I quickly lifted out of the seat and turned around so I could climb into the back

"Wait—what—are you—"

My foot _accidentally_ clipped his shoulder, causing him to wince as I thudded into the back, popping back up with a sigh.

Stiles echoed my sigh and we both stared out the window of the jeep for a minute. I pursed my lips and glanced out the window, seeing that Scott and Allison were still wasting precious time whispering to each other, and I groaned with impatience.

"Are they _always_ like that?" I asked, my breath fogging the glass of my window slightly.

Stiles drew in a tired breath. "Yeah, unfortunately. We don't have time to warn my dad that a crazed killing machine is on the warpath headed for _who knows what_ , but we've got plenty of time to make a quick pit stop so they can suck face…"

I felt a smirk tug on at my lips. "Hmm…" I mused. "Well, to be fair, I'm not sure what your dad could do anyway…"

"Yeah," He reluctantly admitted. "It just sucks to have to watch the toll that all of this death and violence that the supernatural parts of Beacon Hills has on him as Sheriff, and _know_ that he doesn't know how to stop it, or even what's causing it, meanwhile— _I do_ —but there's only so much I _can_ do, and I can never tell him anything."

I turned to blink at his sudden sprout of honesty, and he seemed almost completely unaware that he'd said it out loud—let alone that he'd said it to _me_. He must've finally felt my gaze because he glanced over at me, and then did a double take when he saw my expression. And when his words caught up with him, his face morphed into an interesting mixture of vulnerability and horror, but before he could say a word Scott climbed back into the jeep and apologized for taking so long.

Scott paused when looked at Stiles and glanced back at me, his mouth clamping shut. "…What?" He said, glancing between us. "What'd I miss? What happened?"

Stiles looked back to the front of the jeep and abruptly turned the key in the ignition. "Nothing, where are we going?"

"Uhhh…" Scott hesitated, taking one more second to watch us both before focusing on the question. "I'm not sure, really…" I finally settled back and let myself relax. "We should probably follow Derek."

And just like that, my brief moment of relaxation was snatched away. I sat rigid in the back seat and Scott rolled the window down again to sniff at the air, telling Stiles where to go.

* * *

We pulled up to a dark alley, and a huge fence made Stiles have to stop. The trail continued on past the fence, but the jeep couldn't exactly make it over, so Stiles turned to ask Scott what to do. He barely got the question out of his mouth before Scott scrambled out of the jeep and hopped the fence.

Stiles and I both watched him sprint down the alley, and I was able to see him turn a corner and disappear behind one of the buildings. I turned to look at Stiles and he frowned back at me. "What are you doing?"

I frowned at the question, confused.

"You should be _with_ him!" He exclaimed, gesturing to the fence. "The Kanima went that way!"

I scoffed. "No way," I easily dismissed, climbing to join him in the front seat. "Derek is there too, and I'm not about to go deal with _that_."

I settled in the seat and turned to look at Stiles' dry, exasperated expression. "Oh," He flatly said. "Good. Denial. Avoidance. That's just what we need right now. That's perfect, Savannah—"

"Oh, boo," I waved him off. "Get over it. It's not happening."

"Well—" he broke off, staring at me as if willing me to change my mind. "Come on! You can _do_ something here; you can help! Why aren't you—I mean—"

"I _am_ helping. I'm helping you! We can move the jeep; follow Scott if he chases the Lizard on foot." He continued to gawk at me and I widened my eyes at him and pointed at the steering wheel. "Look, Stiles, I don't need to follow Scott to help! I think he can handle himself! And I'm much better served directing you where to go. You don't have to do _everything_ on your own."

He blinked at me, my words slowly soaking in. I stared back at him and allowed him a few more seconds for it to compute before twirling my finger in the air. "Come on, turn us around! Let's get out of here."

Finally, he turned back and grumbled to himself as he jerked the jeep out of park and executed a pretty impressive three-point turn.

* * *

"It's this way, trust me!" I called, jogging down the alley with Stiles trailing slower behind me.

"Are you sure? I think we've passed this same window three times!" I turned to give him a dubious look as he turned back to squint at a window in the building we passed, and he glanced over his shoulder at me. "I know, because that creepy old lady's been staring at me every time—"

I choked out a surprised laugh and waved for him to hurry up. "C'mon, he's just around the corner, let's go!"

The sound of music gradually got louder as we rounded the corner of the club. As soon as we stepped out of the alley, fresh breeze rolled away the smell of the dumpster behind us and replaced it with alcohol and cologne.

Scott was peeking around the corner of the building towards where a long line of _fine_ men stood, waiting to be let inside the club by a bouncer. Stiles grabbed Scott's shoulder and apparently scared the crap out of him.

"Ah, sorry—sorry!" He exclaimed, putting his hands up. "What, you couldn't hear us?"

"It's loud in there," Scott said, pointing to the building. "And I'm trying to focus on finding the Kanima. Plus, it's hard to smell you guys over all the cologne and sweat—"

"And booze." I added with a wink, taking another peek at the delicious buffet lined outside the club. "Oh, my gosh," I breathed, my heart beat accelerating with anticipation. "Seriously? I should've joined you guys weeks ago. You really know how to live!"

Scott and Stiles both sent me identical withering looks, and I grinned at them. "Okay, can we focus please?" Stiles' agitation was almost palpable, and I bit back another comment about all the men waiting inside the club as he gestured vaguely at Scott. "What's the Kanima doing? Can you see it?"

"No, like I said, it's hard to focus with all—"

"I can smell it." I said, and Scott's head snapped around to gawk at me.

"What? How!"

"It's—it's like…" I paused, sniffing the air and stepping back towards the alley. "Really subtle. Like, you know the medicine that doctors use to numb your skin when you get stitches?" They both nodded, to my surprise, because that means they've both had them before. "It smells like that. And sometimes if I get really close to it I can smell moss."

Scott turned away, his face thoughtful as he sniffed the air. Stiles made a face at the two of us, sniffing around the building like a couple of bloodhounds, and before I could make a joke about it Scott exhaled in frustration. "I can't get it!" He ground out. "There's too much stuff clouding it. Savannah, why—"

"Guys!" Stiles exclaimed, pointing frantically upward. "I think I found it."

Scott and I rushed to join Stiles, looking upward at the second story window just as the Kanima's tail swished through the air before disappearing inside.

"Oh, good." I smartly commented. "Maybe this is why he's so mean to everyone all the time. Maybe he's gay, and he's got some seriously suppressed—"

Stiles gasped, gripping my arm. "Do you really think so?"

I smirked. "I think you're a little out of his league—"

"That's not why I'm asking! Lydia is—Wait, what?"

"You guys! Regardless of why he's going in there, we have to stop him! He's the Kanima right now, which means he's not here to dance—" I snorted at the image before I could stop myself, "He's going in there to _hurt_ somebody, and we need to stop him!"

"Okay, okay," Stiles leaned back to look up at the window. "How are we going to get in, though? We can't exactly wait in line!"

Scott turned to head down the alley, and I reached out to jokingly smack Stiles shoulder. "Hey!" I exclaimed. "I know! Maybe we could go find that old lady's window, and you could persuade her to let us in so we could climb to the roof of her building, and then we could—"

The sound of metal being bent, and then snapping screeched through the alley and interrupted me. I winced and Stiles pointed down at the broken handle as it rolled through the alley. "Okay, _that_ was cool, Scott. You have to do stuff like that more often—"

Scott disappeared into the club, and I pushed Stiles out of the way to scramble in just before he did. He grunted in irritation and called after me, but I was already caught up next to Scott like a child hiding behind her mother, and stuck my tongue out at him over Scott's shoulder.

Laughing at myself, I turned around and came up short when I finally saw the club.

Hot men. Everywhere I turned: perfectly coiffed hair, sweaty chests, _fireman costumes_ , muscles, _oiled_ abs, sharp jaw lines and dimples. Lasers were zigzagging all through the crowd and I struggled to hear myself think over the sound of music and all the voices of the men in here.

"Dear lord," I murmured in awe as I watched a blonde with a firefighter's hat spray Stiles with a little neon water gun. My hands flew to my mouth as I tried to stifle my laughs, but he heard them very well as he sputtered and turned ten shades of red.

"W—Wha—" He stammered, and the muscled man winked at him.

"Sorry," He purred. "You're just so hot, I had to come cool you down before you caught everyone on fire. It's my job."

I gasped and choked on my laughter at the ridiculously cheesy line, my eyes watering as I bit a knuckle to try and stifle myself. Stiles turned to me with wide eyes as someone who was very obviously a drag queen wearing a huge, voluminous Cher wig came hurrying over, waving a napkin.

I turned and started to say something to Scott, but he grabbed me by the arm and stopped me. "I think I know why Jackson came here," He hollered, giving me a troubled look. I glanced back to where he had been facing, which was the bar. Once I took a moment to appreciate all the fine men, I did a double take upon spotting the muscles of a familiar back.

The same back I had been ogling just the other day. Except, it had a black shirt on, and Danny was leaning over the bar and speaking with the bartender. I whirled back to shake my head at Scott.

"This is bad," I said, my voice low with dread. He frowned and nodded at me.

"I know!" He called over the music, looking back at Danny. "We have to try and get him out of here!"

"No, I mean, this is _bad!_ " Scott stared at me uncomprehendingly, and I pursed my lips. "Daniel kind of… he doesn't trust me."

Scott blinked at me I stepped away.

"Scott, I don't know how much help I can be with him. I'll—I'll focus on finding the Kanima, okay?" I shrugged and gestured through the club. "I know his scent anyways. I'll be able to find him faster."

Scott looked like he wanted to say more, but he nodded and I took a deep breath before moving through the crowd.

I made my way to the other side of the bar and tried to strain my eyes and nose. There was plenty of sweat and cologne to smell, but I wasn't worried about that—I was trying to find the Kanima.

A door opened behind me, and though it was a subtle change, it shifted the pressure of the room and stirred all the scents around. I caught a brief snag of novacaine riding on the current of cinnamon and strawberry flavored shots, and I followed it towards the dance floor.

Moving my hips and swaying with the beat, I pushed myself into the folds of the crowd and wove closer and closer to wherever the scent grew stronger. It wasn't until I was almost in the center of the dance floor that I spotted Danny's face amongst the dancing guys.

If I put my hands out, I hit abs, so it was a bit of a tight space. When I whirled on my heels I almost ran into someone, but I quickly ducked my head and struggled not to step on feet as I extracted myself from that part of the dance floor.

I heard a small hiss and my head snapped up as I looked at the ceiling. A fog machine was producing a thin cloud of smoke that slowly trickled down towards the dance floor, and I almost looked away, until movement by one of the pipes in the ceiling caught my eye.

The Kanima was crawling over the ceiling like a demon straight out of hell, its scales shining slightly in the lights from the dance floor.

My heart rate spiked as I watched it move closer to the edge of the dance floor, and I shoved past sweaty bodies and in between men and even a few women as I followed it. It disappeared into the fog of one of the machines for a moment, and I glanced over and saw the same 'fireman' from before. He was dancing with someone now, but I slid through the crowd until I was in reaching distance.

I snagged the water gun from his back pocket and turned my attention back to the ceiling.

The second I spotted its tail flick out of the cloud of smoke, I navigated the crowd until I was under it. Lifting my hand, I shot a stream of water up at what I hoped was its head. I could hear a hiss as it recoiled and scurried to the other side of the fog machine in an attempt to flee whatever had just shot water at it.

I kept shooting at areas, herding it towards the exit, and I was almost home free when a hand grabbed my wrist. I growled and seethed at whoever had just stopped my progress. A redheaded guy was scowling back at me. "Could you stop!" He hollered, "You're getting everyone wet!"

"And that's a _bad_ thing?" I asked, and he blinked at me.

"Oh." He slurred a bit, and it was glaringly obvious that he was either high or drunk. "You're right! Keep up the good work."

Before I could snap at him again, he turned and slid back into the crowd with a loud cheer about water guns.

My eye twitched and when I looked back up, the Kanima had long since disappeared. I sighed and looked back towards the bar.

Scott and Stiles had vanished, and as I scanned the crowd for them, I noticed a body collapsing on the dance floor. Logic was quick to explain it as either an overdose or heat exhaustion, but when the second body went down, I knew.

I watched in abject horror as the Kanima began to make its way through the crowd—apparently having ditched the ceiling—and I was about to go drag it by its hind legs into the alley when I caught, amid all the cologne, the unmistakable scent of Derek.

I froze and the hair on the back of my neck prickled. Scott's voice cut over the crowd just as I spotted Derek's red, glowing eyes—at first I'd thought they were lasers and I was hallucinating, but then I heard the shrill screech of the Kanima, and people started screaming and running around in all directions.

It was impossible to tell what was going on through the crazed rush, and I let out a frustrated grunt until people started backing away from one certain spot on the dance floor. When they'd cleared enough I could see Danny and at least four other bodies lying around him. Retreating towards one of the doors was Scott, and I quickly shoved around people to sprint after him.

I barreled through the door and looked around. "Scott!" I called, hopping down the steps to join him in the alley.

He turned and pointed down at the trail of blood as I caught up to him. "Derek got him. _Bad_."

"Of course he did," I grumbled, and we both followed the trail into the parking lot. The blood led far into the dark lot, about six vehicles in, until it suddenly curved around the side of an SUV. We both slowed our steps as we cautiously crept forward, and we froze when we saw Jackson's limp form on the ground.

His arm was underneath his head, his chest slashed to meaty ribbons and blood was all but pooling around his body. Neither of us so much as _breathed_ , and neither did Jackson. He was perfectly still as he lay there.

"Is he dead?" I whispered, looking at Scott, and I didn't know _how_ to feel when Jackson suddenly sputtered and gasped out a breath. Scott rushed forward and turned Jackson on his back. I jerked in surprise when I realized he was _butt naked_ and anything I was about to say was stolen from my mind.

"What do we do with him now!?" Scott cried, his hands hovering over Jackson's completely shredded chest.

"I—I don't know! Cover him up?" I lamely exclaimed as Stiles suddenly appeared at my side. "You!" I grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him forward. "Deal with this!"

He ground out a slightly disgusted, very surprised noise when he saw his best friend crouched over Jackson's unconscious, bloodied, naked body.

"Oh, my God!" He exclaimed. "Is he dead!?"

"No," Scott and I chorused. I was still slightly facing away, letting my eyes focus on the club as I watched for any unwanted company. "But people will be leaving the club soon. We need to get him out of the parking lot, now!"

"Okay, okay," Scott looked up at Stiles. "Can you get the jeep?"

"Yeah, stay here, I'll be right back!"

I stayed behind to help Scott drag Jackson away from the vehicles and closer to the road. Looking away, I curled my lip in disgust. "Ugh, god," I said around my snarled lip. "Why did I get the legs? Why couldn't I have the chest?"

"Because!" Scott exclaimed. " _I_ sure as hell wasn't gonna be that close to it!"

"Well what the hell!" I frantically ground out. "You think I want this?"

"No, but you're a girl!"

"So I should definitely have his shoulders!"

"No, you're _Savannah_."

I sent him a dry look as we gently lowered Jackson to the ground. "Okay, that excuse is going to get old _really_ fast." Scott ignored me as he checked over Jackson's wounds and made sure he wasn't about to croak right here on the ground in front of the club. "I'm not sure that this is much better than the parking lot," I muttered as I glanced around the area nervously.

At any given moment, someone could come out of the club and walk down this way, or get in their car that's parked just a few feet away, or drive by on the road right in front of us. Sirens wailed in the distance and I cursed loudly as Scott and I began circling him like a restless fish in a bowl.

"Crap! What's taking him so long?" And just as I said it, the jeep came around the corner on two wheels and screeched to a stop in front of us.

I rushed over to hold the door open as Scott grabbed Jackson by the shoulders and paused, looking up at me and Stiles where we now both stood at the jeep.

"Someone help me!" He hissed, and I put a finger to the tip of my nose.

"Nose goes!" I called, and Stiles quickly flung a finger to his own and scowled when he saw me.

"That's not fair!" He whined. "You can't do that before you say it—"

"Stiles!" Scott snapped. "Just help me before someone sees!"

Stiles sent me a scathing glare and I smiled innocently back at him as he went to help collect Jackson.

They deposited his limp body in the back seat, and Stiles quickly covered him with a blanket he'd kept under his seats. When Jackson was finally lying there, covered with the blanket, and breathing steadily, we all took a deep breath and stepped back.

I stood with my hands on my hips and turned to Scott. "Well… we should probably get out of here."

"Wait," Scott said, causing Stiles and I to putter to a halt and turn back to him. "We should check on Danny first, right?"

"Good idea. Maybe he knows something about Jackson that can help!" Stiles suddenly pointed out, and Scott jumped at this suggestion enthusiastically.

My eye twitched.

"But you go. I'll stay here with Jackson in case he wakes up." Stiles said, and I cleared my throat.

"Me too."

They both looked at me like I'd grown another head. "You were just whining about having to help me carry him out of the parking lot. Now you want to _stay_ with him?"

I opened my mouth and my eyes unfocused as I struggled with how to phrase this. "I… Don't think I'll be much help to get Danny to talk." They stared blankly at me. "In fact, I think my being there would be counterproductive…" I scratched at the back of my neck, as they finally seemed to catch on.

Tactfully, they chose not to comment on it—which actually surprised me a lot. Scott silently nodded and Stiles gestured for me to join him in the jeep.

As Scott was making his way through the crowd to the paramedics, Stiles and I were sitting quietly and trying to pretend Jackson wasn't passed out, half dead, in the back seat.

"…So… you're with us now, right?" Stiles suddenly asked, and I turned my surprised gaze onto his face.

"Exciting, isn't it?" I sarcastically replied, and he rolled his eyes and looked away. Silence descended on us again for about two seconds before Stiles couldn't stand it any longer and turned back to me.

"If you're with us, you have to be _with_ us, you know?"

My mouth fell open. Is he serious?

"I mean—you can't do that—that back and forth thing you've been doing. And tonight! Tonight you almost stayed behind to help them, even after you were part of the reason they were there in the first place."

I felt my face scrunching with frustration and maybe a hint of a deeper, more stinging emotion. "I'm—the reason they're there _at all_. Derek might've bitten them, but I… I feel just as responsible for them. It's not something I can just shut off. This isn't easy for me, Stiles!" He blinked at my sudden display of emotion, and I felt my anger intensify at the dumb look on his face. "God!" I turned away, glaring through the window. "You know, I came to you guys because I thought at least you could _trust_ me. I thought at least I wouldn't have to explain myself with every turn I make. What do I have to do to prove to you people that I'm not about to stab you in the back!?"

He gawked silently at me, completely at a loss for words as I practically panted at him with ire. He started to say something when Scott knocked on my window. Clenching my jaw, I reached down to shove the door open and slid over in my seat to make room for him.

Stiles' stunned silence was quickly filled by Scott explaining that he couldn't get anything helpful out of Danny.

"Fine, can we go now? I'm sick of staring at this parking lot, and all these police officers are making me nervous." I grumbled, and Scott sighed and agreed.

"Yeah, we should go before a deputy recognizes your jeep, Stiles," and just as he said it, it was as if God heard him and sent the Sheriff's car directly into our path.

Sheriff parked _literally_ right in front of the jeep. I heard Stiles curse under his breath, and his heart rate triple as he fumbled with the door and scrambled out of the jeep to meet his irate looking father halfway.

I turned to exchange a stunned, panicked glance with Scott. He opened his mouth to say something when Jackson groaned and sat up. As Scott whispered at Jackson and tried to push him back down into the seat, I watched through the windshield while Stiles failed at trying to explain our presence away to his father.

" _What, it's a club! It's a club_ …" He lamely tried, his father scrunching his face at him in dubious distaste. " _We were—clubbin! Ya know? At the club…"_

 _"_ _Doesn't seem like your kind of club_ ," Sheriff wryly pointed out, his arms crossed as he squinted at his son, and I held my breath as I waited to hear what Stiles would do with _that_.

" _Ahh… well, dad… there's_ — _a—conversation that we need to—"_

 _"_ _You're not gay."_ Sheriff's eyebrows furrowed even more, if it were possible, and his face took on an expression that no kid could want to see on their dad's face. It was disappointment, it was… " _Now this is the_ second _crime scene that you just_ happened _to have shown up on?"_ It was accusatory. Distrustful. Dreading. " _I've been fed so many lies that I don't know_ what _to believe, and at this point I'm not even sure that I recognize the kid standing in front of me! Now how about you tell me what the_ hell _is goin' on!"_

Stiles shoulders slumped, and I could see from here that his mind was racing as he failed miserably at trying to come up with a plausible excuse.

My mind flashed back to what he said just before we came to the club, about how much exactly _these_ situations sucked. It wasn't fair. Stiles isn't to blame here.

So, before I could think too much about what I was doing, I swung the jeep door open and plopped my boots onto the gravel. Stiles whirled around and his father leaned around him to peer curiously at me as I sighed and ran my hand down my shirt, ignoring Scott's panicky cries while he struggled to quiet Jackson and stop me at the same time.

I set my jaw and put my shoulders back, the gravel crunching under my boots as I strode purposefully forward. Sheriff's face twisted in blunt disbelief and confusion, his mouth hanging open as he looked between Stiles and me.

"Sheriff Stilinski," I casually greeted, putting my hands behind my back as I came to a stop next to Stiles. His eyes were burning holes in the side of my face, but I focused intently on Sheriff and his flabbergasted expression as I stood there. "I was just waiting in the jeep back there for Stiles, and I couldn't help but notice that it seems like," I glanced momentarily at Stiles deathly pale, stunned face before looking back at his dad. "Maybe he's doing a suck-ass job of lying to you about why we're here right now."

Stiles squeaked in shock and Sheriff's eyebrows drew even deeper into themselves. "Well—yes, it seems that way…" He sent Stiles a questioning look and I drew in a deep breath.

"I thought so." I patted Stiles shoulder and jerked my chin back towards the jeep. "Why don't you go wait for me with Scott?" He almost started flailing again. "I'll be there in a minute," I said through slightly clenched teeth, giving his shoulder a pointed squeeze.

He drew in a quick, pained breath and pried his shoulder out of my grasp. "O-Okay?" He stared at his dad as if asking him to ask me to leave, but Sheriff only looked blankly back at him as he waited for his son to leave.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Stiles turned on his heel and watched me as he started to walk back to the jeep. "All right…" He said. "I'm leaving… Here I go. To the jeep. Away from you. And my dad… alone."

I sent the Sheriff a weird look, and he rolled his eyes at his son. "Would you just go!" He scolded, sending Stiles into an actual human pace as he trudged reluctantly towards the jeep. I waited for him to cast one final, confused look back at us before he climbed into the driver's seat.

Turning back to the sheriff, I drew in a deep breath. "Well, here's the thing. I… have a massive crush... on Jackson." It literally _pained_ me to say that, and Sheriff's face shattered from suspicious to shocked.

"You _do_?" He squinted, and I swallowed the bile in my throat to nod at him. Sheriff paused and looked away as this information failed to develop in his mind. "… _Really?_ "

I raised my eyebrows. "Uh, yeah," I smoothly lied, and reached up to rub at my nose. "It's pretty sad, actually. But as you may or may not know… he's dating Lydia."

Understanding dawned on his aged face, and he suddenly leaned his head back and glanced back at the jeep. "Ohhh…" He drew his gaze back to me, all suspicion having shed from his visage. "I don't think I did know that… but it explains a lot."

I pursed my lips together to really sell it. "Yeah," I nodded. "So… Stiles and I can mutually benefit from their break up. And I wanted to come to the club tonight to try and get on Danny's good side, because he's Jackson's best friend…" I paused and looked down at the ground. "Stiles and Scott are just lying because they know how crazy that sounds, and I also got them fake IDs so we could get in. But I think it went a bit far, and then the thing happened on the dance floor, and now…"

Sheriff nodded. "I understand… Kind of." I smirked and he sighed heavily, running a hand down his face. "In some weird way, I'm relieved… but this doesn't mean you can keep the fake IDs! We'll need to confiscate those." I rolled my eyes and nodded, and Sheriff started to say something else, shook his head, and turned to leave.

"Wait!" My hand flew out to grab his arm, but I stopped myself at the last second. He glanced down at my hand and I quickly withdrew it. "Stiles is a good kid. I mean… take it from me," I said with an exhausted, genuine smirk that said I knew very well how loaded this compliment was, given my history. "He could be _so_ much worse. You should be thankful to have him. I'm probably not the best influence on him but… he and Scott… they're good influences on me."

The Sheriff's face had softened a bit as he stared back at me. "You're right about that. I can't blame Stiles for trying to protect you, and for once I'm not going to walk away from you feeling like I should be taking you with me in handcuffs just to keep you off the streets for the night. You've come a long way, Savannah. Don't let something like a silly crush drag you down again."

I raised an eyebrow and let out a breathy laugh. "You got it, Sheriff."

He hesitated and turned back to me again. "Are you _sure?_ " And it was obvious that he meant my fabricated crush on Jackson. I simply raised my eyebrows at him and smiled awkwardly, and he scrunched his eyebrows together as he looked away in the distance. "I could've sworn that…" He sighed and looked back at me, his face still troubled. "…Never mind. Okay, you kids get out of here. This is a crime scene."

I finally turned around and sighed, letting my eyes close for a minute as my heart finally slowed. I shuddered at the lie I just told, and started back to the jeep.

When I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, forcing Scott to move over, I glared at their gawking faces.

Scott suddenly burst into laughter. Stiles and I looked at him, wide eyed and bewildered.

"You—just, told the Sheriff—that you had a crush on—" He couldn't even get the name out, and I felt a smile playing at my lips as I looked back at Stiles.

His face broke into a wide grin, and he started to chuckle as well.

I grinned at them both, and without missing a beat, I said, "Maybe I do."

Their laughter cut to a strangled end as they both shot up and gaped at me. I let it hang for a second more before I burst into my own laughter, and before I knew it we were all red-faced and breathless, and Jackson stirred in the back because of the noise.

We struggled to get ourselves under control as Stiles started the jeep and we pulled away form the club, but every now and then another snicker would escape and we'd all dissolve into laughter again.


	31. Tit for Tat

"So _this_ is life on the other side," I mused, my arms crossed as I stared at the white van. Across its side it read _Beacon County Sheriff_ , and in smaller letters, _Prison Transport_.

"Other side of what?" Stiles frowned, leaning against a tree. We stood in the Beacon Hills' Preserve, and it felt altogether pleasant in the cheery morning light. One could almost forget that we had a prisoner chained up in the back of a stolen police van.

Almost.

"Well, it's not like Derek and I had easy access to the police department's detainment measures." I gestured to the white van and Stiles pressed his lips together and sighed. "And given my running history with the department, I have to say that hanging around you casts the whole thing in a different light…" I tilted my head thoughtfully. "It's interesting to me that the sheriff's son is so—" I let my eyes flit back to him. "…criminal."

Stiles scoffed and pushed off from the tree to gawk at me. "Criminal!? I'm not criminal! I'm—I—we needed that van!"

"Hmmm." I narrowed my eyes, though it wasn't out of anger or spite. "But that's the classic excuse, isn't it? 'Officer, you don't understand, I _needed_ that money I stole. I _needed_ those clothes I shoplifted."

"It's not the same!" His hands actually curled into fists, and I could tell I was really getting under his skin. "If we didn't do this, if I hadn't stolen that van—people would've _died_! Do you get that?"

I put my hands up and made a calming gesture. "Whoa, Stiles… calm down. It was a joke! Lighten up; you don't have to justify yourself to _me_. I don't think this makes you a bad person! That's not what I'm saying." I scoffed and pointed back at the van again. "I mean, _really_ , how is what we're doing any different from what _they_ do anyways?"

He blinked slowly and hesitated, looking back at the van as I went on.

"What do they do with violent, uncontrollable people?" Stiles blinked back at me, his mouth slightly open as I grimly smiled. "Chain them up. Lock them away. Separate them from the public. At least, until they can find a more permanent solution…"

We both took a moment to reflect on what I was saying, and I sighed and turned away from the van, facing the thicket of trees in front of us. "The world isn't as black and white as they'd have you believe, Stiles. The laws are in place to keep order, but… there are no easy answers for the supernatural. Don't get me wrong—" I placed a hand on my chest and looked back at him. "Obviously you and I are _not_ the same! But you shouldn't feel guilty because there are no rules to follow here. No _laws_ that govern what choice we have. It's—" I broke off, looking back at the trees. "Subjective. Derek thinks he can be judge and jury because of exactly what I'm saying. Why? Because no one else is around to control the situation. No one's _around_ to intervene. The police certainly can't.

"Derek thinks he can execute one of our peers for something that I'm not even sure Jackson can control. Which Derek would argue is the whole _point_ of needing to stop him." I shrugged a shoulder and ran a hand over my hair, which was basically hanging in strands around my face, having escaped from its ponytail. "You're not _bad_ because you broke the law to keep Jackson from harming someone else. I'm sorry if I made you feel…" I shrugged, deciding maybe I should shut up before I rambled on for too long. "Whatever."

"I just—I don't like to think that I'm anything close to the type of people my dad arrests." Stiles grumbled, and I smirked weakly at him.

"Yeah, they're the scum of the town." I said, my voice dry. He nodded without thinking, and then realization abruptly dawned on his face and he took a step forward.

"Oh, crap! No, that's not what I meant—I mean, it kind of is, but you—you're different now! I don't think my dad, from what I can see, the way he tells it—he didn't _want_ to put you in jail. It's not the same. I mean, even now, you're different than you were, but—you don't steal—wai—uhh…you don't break into—crap, I mean,"

With an amused grin, I decided to put him out of his misery and literally covered his mouth with my hand. He continued to try and speak for a few moments, his eyes wide with anxiety, and I rolled my eyes. "Stiles, shut up! I already told you," I let my hand fall and turned away to go sit by a tree. "You don't have to justify yourself to me, and you definitely don't ever have to apologize for your dad doing his job."

"That's not what I was—" He broke off, frustrated, and I smirked up at him.

"You need to relax more," I mused, and he shook a tight fist at me.

"You're _infuriating_ , you know that!?"

"Mmm, such sweet sentiments you hold for me." I winked at him and he looked like he wanted to strangle me. "How much time until Scott gets back?"

He sighed and crossed his arms, his foot tapping impatiently. "I don't know, twenty minutes? Maybe longer. He doesn't have a car."

"He doesn't _need_ one," I said, my eyes going wide briefly as I said it. Stiles grunted at me and began to pace.

"Yeah, I know that."

"Wow. You don't function well without sleep, do you?" I sat back and put my hands behind my head as he paced in front of me and he sent me a scathing glare.

"It's more about this annoying chick that won't shut the hell up." He gave me a pointed look and I snickered behind my hand. Stiles pulled something out of his jacket pocket and began to fidget with it, and I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Does the idea of being _bad_ really bother you _this_ much?"

"For your information, I'm trying to think of a reasonably believable text to send to Jackson's parents so they don't send the police out to look for him." He held out what I now realized was a black phone, and shook it at me to emphasize his point.

"Oh, _nice_ ," I grinned gleefully, taking a moment to enjoy the hesitation that crept over Stiles' face when he realized how much I approved of his actions. It probably reminded him of what I so eloquently pointed out, which was just how wrong people would see this whole thing. "Include something about Lydia!"

He scoffed and bitterly typed a few letters with more force than necessary.

I threw my head back and suddenly let out a girly whine. "God, I'm so _hungry_! What, did Scott get lost or something?"

"Well, he had to stop by his house to clean up his kitchen before his mom saw the disaster zone you and Isaac left," He paused to squint down at the phone for a moment before apparently clearing the text out to start again. "I can't imagine trying to explain _that_ to Melissa…"

He smirked and looked up to continue but came up short when he saw I'd disappeared. I was stalking towards the van and heard Stiles let out a strangled noise of panic before he scrambled after me.

His hand reached up to grab my elbow, "Whaaat are ya doin'—"

I looked sharply down at my arm, and he his eyebrows dipped but he didn't let go.

"You can't go in there yet!" Stiles exclaimed, dragging me closer to squint in my face. "We said we'd wait until he was awake," his voice was low and suspicious, and I promptly jerked my elbow out of his grasp.

"Yeah? Well I'm _impatient_."

"Well—don't! Be!" He pathetically tried, flapping his hands uselessly as I turned around to continue towards the van. "Savannah!..." I was almost at the door now, and Stiles rushed around to block my path. I clenched my jaw as he began to whisper-yell at me. "Would you just— _wait,_ at least until Scott gets here!? Why are you jumping at the chance to deal with this guy?"

I raised my eyebrows and grinned condescendingly at him. "I'm _bored._ "

"Well—too bad! Let's talk, or play I-Spy, _I don't care_ what! Just let him stay passed out for as long as humanly possible, for the love of God— _don't_ wake him up!"

And just as if it was the easiest thing in the world, I stepped away from the van with a satisfied grin on my face. "All right… But only if you'll play Twenty Questions."

He watched me, his chin tilted back and eyes narrowed suspiciously at how easily I'd given in. "Why do I suddenly feel… used," His voice had dropped flat from its previous desperate, shrill tone.

"Is that one of your questions?" I let a calculated grin play at my lips as I walked back towards the trees and he trudged sluggishly behind me.

"How old are you, twelve?"

"Oh, Stiles, if you're going to play like that you'll _definitely_ lose."

His eyebrows clashed together and he scoffed. "Twenty Questions isn't even competitive!"

I raised an eyebrow at him, backing towards a particularly thick tree. "Well then you've been playing it wrong!"

"Of course _you_ would think of a way to make that game aggressive."

I chuckled in surprise and slowly lowered to sit against the thick trunk of the oak tree, running my hands briefly through the leaves as I went. "Otherwise what's the point?"

He sighed heavily and slowly approached me. "If we do this, I'm laying some ground rules." I twisted my face to protest, but he put a hand up to silence me. "Let me do this, or I'm not playing." I wasn't happy about it, but I kept my mouth shut as he took a deep breath before continuing. "No questions about childhood." Immediately, I pouted, and he pointed down at me. "And nothing about parents!"

"You're actually only limiting _yourself_ here, Stilinski."

He paused, his mouth popping open as he weighed his options. "… And nothing about Lydia."

I put my hands up, feigning innocence, and shrugged my shoulders. "Anything else?" He paused and looked away to mull it over before finally turning back. As soon as he shook his head I crossed my ankles and settled back. "Okay then! _My_ only rule is that you have to answer the questions." He opened his mouth to protest and I lowered my chin at him. "All of them."

"Wha—" Taking in my expression, he pursed his lips at me and paused for a moment before sighing and waving an impatient hand at me to get on with it.

I cleared my throat and stretched my arms out nonchalantly as I tried to think of a good question to kick us off. "Why… do you hang around Scott so much?" Stiles made an extremely confused face as his hands came up to silently express _wtf are you talking about_. "Well, you're not exactly… tied to this. Why are you still here? Your dad is the Sheriff, you have straight A's, and you're on the lacrosse team—so _why_ are you sitting out in the woods with me right now?"

He blinked at me. "Scott's my best friend." He said, as if that explained it all. But this concept was foreign to me, and I couldn't see why he continued to put his life at risk for another person like that when there wasn't very much in it for him. "He's my _best friend_. If I could trade places with him, I would do that in a second! He wouldn't even _be_ in this position if it wasn't for me!" My eyebrows rocketed into my hairline and Stiles abruptly cut off when he saw the surprise on my face. How could Stiles feel responsible for Scott being a werewolf?

"Are you an alpha?" I narrowed my eyes at him and he mocked my expression and tone to answer.

"Is that another question?"

"If you're not the alpha that bit him, this couldn't _possibly_ be your fault. In fact, _none_ of this is your fault," I gestured all around the Preserve, but we both knew I meant that in a much greater sense. "You're not accountable for any of this!"

His mouth hooked down at the corner, and it occurred to me that he was actually exactly like his dad. Sheriff takes on the weight of the choices that every citizen in Beacon Hills made; it's obvious that he feels responsible for everyone to the point of being a little ridiculous about it, and apparently that trait was passed down to Stiles. He shrugged as if unconvinced and unapologetic. "He's my best friend."

I frowned and watched him; his open, honest face, and I could find no deception in his words. He truly believed what he was saying. "Stiles… people aren't really like that." I murmured, and he frowned back at me. "I mean, everyone has a list of people they'd take a bullet for, but—unless it's your family… I mean… it's not true!" He opened his mouth and I cut him off. "It doesn't happen!"

"Scott _is_ my family!" His passion in that statement caught me off guard and I blinked widely at him. "He's my brother! There's no way I'd let—" He looked away. "I could never leave him to fend for himself. He shouldn't _have_ to. We're in this together. For as long as I'm alive, I'll back him up, one hundred percent. Probably even after that. I'll come back as a ghost to haunt his wolfy ass and tell him when he's being stupid. Throw stuff at him, maybe."

"You're serious, aren't you?" I looked him over and he shrugged a shoulder at me. I finally looked back at my hands to pick at my nails thoughtfully. "…Your turn."

"Why did you stick with Derek for so long?" He asked without missing a beat, and if the expression on his face was anything to go by, he'd been dying to ask me that all night.

I took in a slow breath before sighing as I sat up straighter. How honest did I really want to be here? I glanced at Stiles as he fidgeted impatiently, waiting for my answer, and noted to myself that he'd been very blunt with me up to this point. So I guess I should return the favor. "I'm sure you already know that before all of this happened, I was in a very low place in my life." Stiles blinked and shifted, nodding hesitantly. "Derek isn't the most… _compassionate_ person. But that's not what I needed. In fact, I doubt I even would've trusted that enough to give him a chance if he'd tried to randomly be my friend. I knew he wasn't playing any tricks on me, because he was a lot like the kind of people I dealt with every day. Cold. Uncaring. He had business for me—or so I thought—and he took the same approach that anyone else I knew did. Take it or leave it, he didn't care, but if I didn't then I was a dumb ass and it was my loss.

"When he turned me, I came to him. _I_ asked him to do it. It was my choice. And—" I ran a hand over the spot he'd bitten, looking up at the trees. "He's… never tried to judge me for my past. He never asked me anything I wasn't willing to tell him. Which is why, for a long time, I thought I should return that. I felt like he was doing me a favor by not asking about all the dark shit in my life; who was I to demand any answers from him? Ever? For anything.

"But then, as time went on, and our pack grew… as more and more lives were put at risk, under his protection, the answers _still_ didn't come?" I shook my head to myself.

"And Derek never did ask about my past, but he never trusted me any farther than he could throw me, either. So while I think he did expect me to continue this unwavering, obedient loyalty, he never actually told me anything about himself.

"I stayed with him because, at first, I felt like I owed it to him for everything he'd done for me. Later, because I felt like they needed me more than you guys did." I looked up at Stiles and didn't even try to read the expression on his face; tried not to see the deep understanding in his eyes or the newfound respect that set his mouth into a grim line. "You guys don't _need_ me. None of you do, least of all you… But Isaac? Boyd, and even Erica? I felt like they did. I felt like they weren't getting any answers either, in fact—they didn't even _think_ to ask questions… So…" I looked down and raised my eyebrows. "When I found out that Derek had lied to me the other morning, I wasn't—it's not that I was _just_ upset about Isaac miraculously being in school. I mean, that was just one more lie stacked on top of a mountain that had been weighing me down for a _long_ time. I justified staying with him and not joining you guys with the belief that Derek would eventually trust me. That eventually, he'd see past the kind of person I used to be long enough to give me some answers. But when I found out that he'd had all night to tell me something— _anything_ about what he had planned? It—it was too much. I realized that he would never be able to trust me. I realized I would never be okay with killing someone with him. He would never be able to give me the answers I needed, and I would always just be blindly following his orders.

"Actually, I sort of got the impression that Isaac and the rest of the pack knew even more than I do, and maybe that was my fault for making Derek question my loyalties by becoming a going behind his back with you and Scott—for however short a time. I don't know. It doesn't matter now, anyways. All I know is that I can't be with someone who can't be honest with me." Stiles seemed speechless, and I widened my eyes at him and let a small smile tug at my lips. "That's—why I stuck with, and eventually left Derek. There you have it… you know… everything."

He sat quietly, taking all of this information in, and I squirmed as the silence grew louder and louder between us. Unable to stand it any longer, I opened my mouth to ask him something new—but he beat me to it. "So—how… much… don't you know?" He frowned, finally looking up at me.

"Um… I don't know _anything_."

"What does that mean? Do you not know all that happened with Kate?"

"Who's Kate?"

"Argent."

I blinked.

Stiles' jaw literally dropped. He gaped at me, his eyes roving over my clueless face, and sat up straight as he scooted closer to me. "Oh my god! You're not exaggerating! You don't know _anything—_ he literally told you _nothing!_ "

I widened my eyes and flapped my hands uselessly, and Stiles sat back with an angry huff.

"That _prick_!"

I smirked and choked out a surprised laugh. "I _know_ , right?"

"What a dick wad… I didn't know that—" He broke off, glancing back at me. "I mean, how much are you really missing?"

"I know next to nothing about the Argents, if that's what you mean. All I know is that they're hunters. Which, I sort of know what that means?… But I have a few questions about them. Like, who's their leader? Do they have a leader? How many hunters are there? Is it only the Argents, or are there more in Beacon Hills? How much do they know about us? How dangerous are they really, if they're just humans—no offense—and how did they find out about us? Can they tell by just looking at us? That'd be crazy! Chris knows what I am, I think, I mean—he found me one time—"

"Okay, okay!" Stiles reached out to place his hand over my mouth, much like I'd done before, and I blinked widely at his light brown eyes as he breathed out a hesitant sigh. "I get it. You're clueless." My eyes narrowed and he raised an eyebrow. "I mean, how have you survived this long?"

I reached up to smack his arm, jerking my face out from under his hand, and he laughed as he cringed away from my weak whacks. "All right, all right!" He yielded, sitting back. We were closer now, as he launched into the lengthy explanation of the Argents, and it became less of a game of Twenty Questions, and more just me firing questions at him, and Stiles providing sometimes short, blunt answers, and sometimes lengthy, in depth explanations.

I don't know how much time passed, but the morning chill had significantly warmed up, and I was leaning back into the trunk of the tree with a leaf twirling between my fingers as I sighed. "So, Kate was Allison's aunt," I paused, letting Stiles hum in affirmation. "She was a crazy bitch." Hum. "She… was a pedophile?" Hummm. "She seduced Derek to get his trust so she could use him to help her burn his house down with all of his family inside?"

"I know…" Stiles gave me a humorously sympathetic wince. "Explains a lot, doesn't it?"

" _Yeah_ ," I scoffed, nodding down at my feet with wide eyes. "Damn… No wonder he's got trust issues."

"Yeah…" His voice was reminiscently amused as he stared up into the trees. Suddenly, he reached up to tug at his ear and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "But she's dead now, so…"

"How? I mean, did Derek kill her?"

"Ah…" He noncommittally pushed a leaf on the ground and lifted his lip. "Well, no, not exactly…"

"Oh, was it Scott?"

"No," His eyebrows rose as he shook his head at that one. "No, definitely not."

"Okay…" I said slowly, tilting my head at him. "It wasn't you, was it?" I asked, only half-joking.

Stiles snorted loudly and did a double take. "W-What? No!" I laughed and shrugged as he studied me with an incredulous look.

"What?" I laughed, covering my mouth with my hand and shrinking away at his reaction.

"Really?" He chuckled, shaking his head at me.

I took a breath and paused. "So who was it?"

"Peter Hale."

"Who's that?"

"He's Derek's uncle."

I frowned, gaping at him. "I thought you said they all died in the fire!"

"Well," He looked away and rubbed at the back of his neck. "All is a relative term, I mean—"

"Stiles." I gave him a pointed look, and he opened his mouth, but I cut him off. "Scott!"

"What?" Stiles pushed on the ground to swivel his head, peering over his shoulder. "Scott!" Scrambling to his feet, he rushed to join his friend.

"Hey, sorry I took so long." Scott was wearing a fresh change of clothes and even appeared to have showered, a white plastic back gripped in his hands as he made his way through the woods towards us. Stiles snatched the bag unceremoniously from his hands, rifling through it, and I knocked shoulders with him as I shoved my hand in to dig as well.

"Hey," Stiles bat at my hands as I tried to grab the turkey sandwich, and I growled at him. He scowled and narrowed his eyes. "No! Not fair. You can't use your wolf-powers for evil—"

"Hands off the turkey club, Stilinski!"

"No way, I had it first!"

"I _saw_ it first!"

"That doesn't even make sense—"

"Guys," Scott raised his eyebrows at us and held up a second bag, a fast food one that wafted the smell of greasy eggs and biscuits, with the unmistakably heavenly aroma of bacon. I dropped Stiles' hand with a moan, floating towards the bag with my hands out. "The sandwiches are for Jackson. _These_ ," He held the bag out of my reach and I growled as I tried to swipe it from his hand. "Are for both of you to _share_ —"

Stiles had come around from the other side, white bag forgotten, and snatched the brown paper out of Scott's hand triumphantly. Immediately he began digging, and I all but tackled him as I tried to snatch the bag from his hand.

"He said— _share,_ " I growled, my chest pressed against his back as I koala climbed up him to try and grab the bag from his hands.

"Hey!" He turned in circles, holding the bag high above his head and out of my reach. "Get off!"

"Give me the bag!"

"Get _off_ —"

As I reached up for the bag, he pressed his hand into my face and tried to shove me off his back, but my hand was locked around his shoulders and I used my legs as leverage to scoot farther up his body, reaching closer to the bag. "Give it!"

"No!"

"Stiles!"

"I had it first!"

Suddenly, Scott's hand flashed out as he seized the bag from Stiles and sent us both withering looks. Stiles and I chorused whines as I perched on his back, and Scott blindly reached into the bag to grab two breakfast sandwiches. Passing one to each of us at random, he sighed as Stiles and I peeked at the sandwiches we got and wordlessly traded.

"I have to get to school." Scott ran a hand over his thick head of hair and tiredly made a face at us as I climbed down from Stiles' back. "Can I trust you two to be okay here?"

"Wha' d'you mean?" Stiles asked, his mouth already full with food. I smirked in amusement as Scott gestured at both of us pointedly.

"I mean, can I trust you two not to _bicker_ the second I leave?"

"No." I simply said, peeling the wrapping back from my sandwich as I sighed in appreciation.

"Okay," Scott ground out impatiently. I took a bite and glanced back at Stiles as Scott reworded his question. "Can I trust you to take care of _Jackson?_ "

"Scott, please," Stiles scoffed, rolling his eyes at his friend. "I can handle that tool."

"I bet you can," I suggestively snorted, and Stiles' eyes narrowed.

Before he could say anything, Scott cut over me like I'd not spoken at all, and I quietly grinned in triumph as he spoke. "Just—don't forget to give him a sandwich. And don't let him out!"

" _Obviously_ ," We chorused, and Stiles flapped his hand dismissively at his friend.

"Go!" He insisted, walking forward to steer him away from us. "Go become learned and if anyone asks and/or brings Jackson up, tell them you saw him at the hospital the other night getting medicine or something."

"Good idea." Scott turned to give us a parting wave as he jogged away. "I'll be back to check in soon!"

"Give Allison a kiss for me!" I teasingly called, and I could practically hear his eyes roll in his head as he promptly ignored me.

I snickered to myself and turned back to Stiles. Just as I was about to say something, Jackson suddenly screamed out Stiles' name from the van. Then he screamed Scott's last name, and oh so tenderly promised to kill them, and Stiles and I exchanged looks of dread.


	32. Good or Bad?

"I got him!" I eagerly called, practically scrambling towards the van. Stiles' hand shot out and dragged me to a screeching halt.

"Whoa, whoa, heyy," He uncomfortably laughed, signaling me to stop. "Whatcha doin?" I opened my mouth to list the reasons why I'm better equipped to handle the situation, but Stiles just interrupted me to continue. "Come on, Savannah." He pulled out his _Sheriff_ voice, all but scolding me with his rationality as he gave me a sour look of disapproval. "We both know Jackson hates you, so I really think between the two—" He broke off at a dead sprint for the van, apparently psyching me out so he could distract me long enough to get the head start.

I yelped in surprise and protest and hurried after him. Fortunately, his underhanded, sneaky methods were no match for my superior strength and speed. I blew past him, giving him a light shove as I quickly flew through the leaves to the door of the van. Jackson was making a lot of noise inside. His chains were rattling as he ranted on about the many different methods of homicide he planned to use to exact his revenge, and I tugged at the handles of the doors.

Locked. Should I break it? I grunted and blew at the hair in my face, basically none of it left in the ponytail at this point, and Stiles caught up to me. He was in that comical form he always seemed to find himself in after running, his face only slightly splotched with red as he gulped for air.

"Looking—for something?" He smugly taunted. I narrowed my eyes at him and punched the door.

"Why'd you do that? You had the key the whole time anyways!"

"Yeah, but this was more fun," He panted, as if that should be obvious. My eyes narrowed even as the most minute grin was begging to tug at the corner of my mouth, and my hand snapped out to smack the back of his head.

Stiles let out an offended whine as he cringed away from me. He looked at me like I'd insulted the entire generation of women in his family, clutching the key to his chest protectively. "See? See what happens? Now you're _definitely_ not getting—"

I tried to snatch the key from his hand and he jerked away, his back smacking into the metal of the van with a reverberating thud. "H-Hey!" He cried as my hands brazenly groped for his, even as he tried to tuck them safely away into the folds of his many jackets. I raised my eyebrows at him challengingly and didn't even hesitate to dig my hands down into the warm depths of his jacket, probing my fingers into his sides as I followed his wrists and grabbed at his hands. "Stop! Stop it!" Probe, probe, tickle. "Ah— _Savannahstopit—_ " He managed through his snorts of grudging laughter, and I found his fingers and began to pry his hand open, shaking my head as I told him this was his own fault.

Finally, I procured the key, and lifted it up to the light of day in triumph as I took a step back from him. "See what happens?" I mocked, wagging the silver in his face. "Shouldn't taunt the werewolf, Stiles, because _bad_ things will happen."

"Oh, yeah," He dryly retorted as he brushed his jacket down with a humph. "You're _really_ menacing with your tickle-attacks. Really, you give Derek a run for his money—"

I raised unimpressed eyebrows at him as I pushed him to the side so I could unlock the doors. We paused just before I opened them, exchanging one final look of dread as we simultaneously realized we were about to voluntarily interact with _Jackson Whittemore_ after we'd basically kidnapped him… Oh well. Here goes.

Jackson froze after I tugged the door open and his eyes fell on my face. His mouth hung open mid-insult, and he gaped at my unblinking face for a few lingering moments. "… _You!_ " He hissed, abruptly springing back to life as he began to furiously thrash in his restraints.

I rolled my eyes at his dramatic display as I lifted one boot to the back of the van and hoisted myself inside.

"I should've _known you_ had something to do with this," He seethed, spittle flying from his mouth a bit. "You just can't resist, can you? You're not going to stop until you finally get what you want from me—"

"Oh?" I sneered as I slid onto the bench across from him. "And just what is it that I want from you, Jackson?"

His eyes narrowed into sharp slits as he completely ignored Stiles, who was now lifting himself into the van to join us. "You think that now since I'm like you, you can get me to join you and McCall's little pack, don't you?" My eyebrows rocketed at that one. When had he figured out that I was a werewolf? I exchanged a surprised look with Stiles as Jackson haughtily went on. "You guys would just _love_ to play for the winning team for once, wouldn't you? And you think that with me on your side—"

I put my hand up to silence him, unable to listen to another word with a straight face. A sadistic grin had broken across my face and I narrowed my eyes in return. " _Wow_. Truly, Jackson, you have outdone yourself. Stiles, do you care to explain the situation to Mr. Narcissism for me? I don't think I can do it without snapping his tight little neck."

Stiles coughed over a laugh and cleared his throat as he gave a rather choppy, vague explanation for why Jackson was in the van. He made sure to make mention of his—ah… condition, including why it was necessary to lock him away. I would chip in every now and then, but at every turn, Jackson would snap at us. He varied from demanding to be let out, to scoffing at what he deemed our ridiculous and impossible explanations, to threatening us, and my favorite one of all—trying to scare us.

He'd suddenly grow quiet as Stiles explained something, and for a brief moment it seemed like maybe Jackson was starting to see our side of things in spite of himself. But then he'd lash out and snap his chain against the metal floor, lunging for Stiles—never for me—and screech out another threat.

It was all really rather enjoyable. Honestly. I was almost sad when we threw a sandwich at him and backed out about an hour later.

Stiles didn't hesitate to lock the doors behind us, and I frowned and pat down my pockets frantically. I looked back up at him with an extremely confused expression, only to meet Stiles' smug grin as he twirled the key between his fingers triumphantly.

I narrowed my eyes. "How'd you do that?"

"I'll never tell," He taunted proudly, snatching it out of reach when I tried to swipe for it again. I ground my teeth and he tucked it safely into his pocket, and we both turned to take deep, cleansing breaths of fresh air.

"So who bit Scott?" I suddenly asked, drawing a stunned look from Stiles.

* * *

"No, no, no!" I cried, pointing in the opposite direction of where Stiles was steering the van. "Left! Go left!"

"I _think_ I know where I'm going!"

"Well that can't be true, because if you knew where you were going, you'd know a _police_ car was only about a mile down this road!" I hissed, and Allison groaned in exasperation from beside us.

"Stiles, just listen to her!"

He took a moment to drop his jaw at her, his accusatory eyes screaming _betrayal_ , and I sighed impatiently. "Look, of the three of us, which one of us has werewolf senses?"

"Which one of us understands _police_ codes?" He sneered, snapping me into silence. I blinked dumbly down at him, and he raised his eyebrows challengingly. " _Yeah_." He said. "Just trust me!"

I clenched my jaw and continued to stare down at him for two more breaths, before finally flinging myself back into the seat between the two humans and crossing my arms. "If we get caught, it's your fault." I grumbled irritably, and Stiles shook his head.

"We won't get caught."

Allison sighed.

 _"This is dispatch to Unit 56, do you copy?"_ We all held our breath as I looked pointedly up at Stiles' face from my seat, my arms still crossed tightly.

The police car began to break through the line of trees, well within distance of seeing us. Allison gasped in a breath and I sat up, and Stiles' hands gripped the wheel tightly. The dispatch threw out some more garbage I didn't understand—and in perfect dues ex machine form, the scanner chirped out some more instruction and bid the police car to make an abrupt U turn. It sped off in the opposite direction before I could hear its tires squealing to a stop, and I almost panicked, thinking we were headed straight for a trap.

"Stiles, does this van have tracking devices on it?" I nervously squirmed in my seat.

"It _used_ to. That's what I had you and Scott remove from under the van and the rims, remember?" He frowned and spared me a glance.

Relief flooded me as he quickly jerked the wheel and steered us through a clearing I'd failed to notice, threading through trees and safely away from the police car. Allison and I simultaneously expelled thankful sighs as Stiles pulled to a stop in front of a cliff that faced the city.

My mind flashed involuntarily back to the last cliff I'd faced. Jack's screams echoed through my mind and I quickly clamped that memory on lock down as Allison threw the door open and climbed out of the van. Stiles shut it off and turned to look at me with a smug expression that was quickly becoming a habit for him. "See? I can handle things just—" He broke off, his gaze lingering on my eyes. I blinked at him and scowled.

"Okay, Stiles." I ground out. "You were right. I was wrong. Happy?" And with that, I scooted across the seat and swung my legs over the side. Stiles' hand reached out to grab the back of my shirt and I all but snarled at him.

"Wait—what's wrong?"

I clenched my jaw and wryly cocked an eyebrow. "I hate being proven wrong." But that even sounded weak to my ears, so I quickly turned away from his all-seeing gaze and slid out of the van.

Scott had apparently been waiting for us. Somehow, the two friends knew exactly where to go, and I raised my eyebrows at him. Before I could get a word in edgewise, he began to spew about finding Danny's car and some missing tablet.

"What is this, Indiana Jones?" I smartly commented, and Stiles smirked at me as Scott frowned in confusion.

"What? No, I think the tablet has the video that Danny was fixing for him."

"What video?" I frowned.

"Derek told me that Jackson made a video of himself on the night of the full moon." Scott frowned at me and hesitated. "He didn't tell you?" My eye twitched and I ignored the heated gaze that Stiles burned into the side of my head.

"As hard as it is to believe, Jackson and I had other things to discuss besides his weird videotaping fetishes. Although I have to say, that's a new low even for him…" Scott started to tell me that's not who he meant when Stiles suddenly interrupted to throw some logic into the conversation.

"What does _fixing the video_ mean? Did Danny erase it for him? Does he know what Jackson is?"

I breathed out slowly through my nose, relaxing slightly as the heat was taken off of me when Scott took the bait and forgot about me. "No, I got the impression that Danny was recovering the lost footage." I almost made a comment about cheesy found-footage horror movies, but decided against it.

"Why would he do that if he was the one to erase it?" Allison pointed out.

"Exactly." Scott said, and Stiles feigned understanding, though we both knew he'd understood all along.

"Okay… hold on, so, somebody watches Jackson make a video of himself turning into the Kanima and then just—erases part of it so he wouldn't know?... I mean, who would do that?"

"Somebody who wanted to protect him?" Allison suggested with a frown. I raised my eyebrows and glanced between them all, contemplating voicing that they're kind of describing Lydia again—but that doesn't make sense, either.

"Who would want to protect Jackson?" I scrunched my face up and shook my head. "No, if someone else erased that footage then they did it to protect themselves."

Scott and Allison both sent me identical looks of surprise and confusion. Stiles cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. "Savannah, no. We've been over this, remember? The Kanima seeks a _friend_. Friends protect their friends."

I raised my eyebrows at him, unconvinced. "Sure they do."

His mouth twisted down at the corner as he glanced back at the other two, almost as if he was embarrassed for me. I narrowed my eyes and reared up to argue my point further, but Scott interrupted with a new topic.

"Stiles, you said the only thing you could find online about the Kanima is that it goes after murderers." Stiles eyes lingered on me briefly, as if to silently communicate that we weren't finished with that conversation, before finally turning to give Scott his full attention. He shrugged as if to bid him to go on. "What if that's actually true?"

"No, it can't be." Stiles spoke as if it was ridiculous to even consider it. "I mean, it went after us, remember? And I don't know about you guys, but I've not murdered anyone recently."

My heart sank and I straightened up, my eyes flashing back to the stupid cliff. I tightened my fists and shoved them into my pockets and tried to ignore Stiles' persistent gaze as Scott went on.

"Well I don't know that it actually wanted to kill us. Remember the first time we saw it at Isaac's? It just went right by us, didn't it?" Scott said to Allison, and she nodded with a troubled expression. "And it didn't hurt you guys at Isaac's, either."

I wryly cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe its kryptonite is Isaac."

Scott sighed and Stiles shook his head. "It tried to kill all of us at the pool, remember?"

I pursed my lips and rolled my eyes upwards. "Sort of. I mean, it knocked me out and gave me amnesia, so… Not really."

"There!" Scott cried, pointing at me excitedly. "See? It could've killed you, but it didn't! It just knocked you out and made you useless." My eyes narrowed at his phrasing, but I could see Stiles' head vehemently shaking.

"It knew that if it went after Savannah, it would have me and Derek to worry about. So it paralyzed her and Derek, and it would've done the same to me and then killed us but I jumped in the pool before it had the chance."

"I thought you _fell_ in." I smirked at him and his eyes narrowed.

Scott ignored me, something that could quickly start to grate my nerves. "Maybe it wasn't. What if it was keeping you there?"

Stiles recoiled and his face morphed into that of complete horror. "Oh my god… I feel violated."

"Okay, but we still don't know _why._ " I persisted, bringing us back around to the real matter at hand. "What does Jackson want if he's not just killing people? What's he trying to do?"

"And how do we stop him?" Scott finally said, always the hero, and I tried to muster up a glare for him, but for some reason I couldn't quite find it in me. I'm not saying I'm starting to respect him, but… Well. Maybe I am.

"I know!" Stiles suddenly proclaimed, putting his hands in the air. "How about this: We kill Jackson!"

I couldn't keep the surprise off my face, and Scott threw his hands out as if they'd already spoken about this and previously agreed against it. "Stiles!" He scolded. "Come on! We can't kill him!" Stiles sputtered to interrupt him, but Scott shook his head. "He helped us with Peter, remember?"

I threw my finger up, "I do! I knew that! I found that out today." I felt almost giddy with the relief of finally having enough knowledge to know exactly what was going on in this freaky little town.

Scott and Allison both sent me identical looks of confusion. Stiles had filled me in on who exactly Peter was, and the fact that he'd turned Scott. We'd been deep into the history of the chaos Derek's uncle had wreaked, including turning Scott, when Allison came bouncing into the woods to tell us that her grandfather let her know that the police were onto us.

"You just found that out _today_?" Allison squinted incredulously at me and I slid an awkward glance to Stiles, silently bidding him to help me out here. I didn't quite feel comfortable telling them about my history with Derek.

"Yeah, he helped us with Peter, but it's not like he found out about the werewolves and then had a sudden change of character and decided to selflessly help us! He went to Derek to get him to change him afterwards, as repayment. It's funny how he got exactly what he wanted by supposedly risking his life for us—it's _funny_!" I blinked at this new information that I'd sort of suspected all along, but didn't comment. Allison switched her gaping expression from me to Stiles.

"Okay, but that doesn't make him _not_ worth saving." Scott insisted, and I raised a skeptical eyebrow. Stiles glanced briefly at me before shrugging almost sheepishly at Scott.

"Well, then he did it so he could get the bite. Now, he's the Kanima. What about the next time he decides to use us? What if he's doing it right now? One of us could seriously get hurt—I mean, he's already murdered _two_ people, Scott!"

Scott finally exploded. "He doesn't _know_ what he's doing!"

"Exactly!"

" _I_ didn't _either_!" Scott reminded him, almost viciously, before blinking at Stiles' gaping face and taking a moment to breathe before he continued, more calmly now. "I mean, do you remember when I almost killed you and Jackson?" He gestured to Allison, and she pressed her lips together and nodded reluctantly. "I had someone to stop me… Jackson doesn't. He doesn't have anyone."

I blinked rapidly, an unbidden wave of empathy washing over me as I realized how similar Jackson and I really are. I mean, even _I_ had someone to stop me when I freaked out during the full moon—but it's not always been like this. I've not always had people around to tell me when I'm taking things too far. In fact, I'd wrecked my whole life because I haven't had anyone for so long.

I looked at my feet as some foreign, long forgotten feeling scratched at my chest. I kept quiet as I tried to identify it—and nearly fell over in shock when I realized that the heavy weight on my shoulders and the disappointment in my chest equated to _shame_.

Shame. No. I wouldn't feel _shame_ for how I've treated Jackson. He deserves every bit of it! Because honestly, so did I. And sometimes I still do!

All of these thoughts were bowled over when Stiles finally spoke again. He quietly scoffed and unapologetically declared, "That's his own fault."

He might as well have swung a bat at me. I blinked rapidly and felt totally confused by feeling like he'd just lugged a bag of bricks at my chest, and Stiles casually glanced over at me and did a double take upon seeing my expression.

He hesitated and stepped towards me as Scott continued, but I couldn't hear him as I furiously worked to beat my emotions into submission.

 _So what_ if Scott had hit close to home? _So what_ if I'm just like Jackson? _So what_ if Stiles had so callously dismissed Jackson's complete and utter lack of companionship? _So what_ if he thought Jackson was entirely to blame? He's not wrong.

Is he?

Scott quietly murmured that it didn't matter, and I felt the words come out of my mouth before I could stop them. "You're _both_ wrong." I clenched my hands into fists and cut a glance back at the van. "Everyone needs somebody."

"So you agree with me," Scott concluded, and I couldn't help but feel like maybe he'd missed my point entirely. But as I looked back at them, I knew Stiles hadn't missed it. Regret was painted on his face as he stepped towards me. "You'll help me?"

"I'll help _him_." I crossed my arms and shrugged an irritated shoulder. "If I can."

"Good… but, Savannah," Scott's brown eyes were entirely focused on me now, on how I'd locked up and shut down. "You know that we'd do the same thing for you, right?"

I blinked at him.

Scott took a step forward and grabbed my shoulder meaningfully, frowning at me. "You're not the same as Jackson."

I looked away and tried to work up a scoff, but it came out more as a huff.

"I don't shift into a lizard? Great, thanks for that clarification." I lamely said, avoiding Stiles' face at all costs as I glanced back to Scott. "Jackson and I are nothing alike. We come from two completely different worlds."

" _Right_." Scott squeezed my shoulder and nodded at me. "You're not the same."

I stared down at the ground for another breath before shaking his hand off my shoulder. "Good. Great. Okay. I'm not a homicidal Lizard-Thing with a split personality, _cool_ , thanks for the reminder. Let's just try to keep him from killing someone for one more night, capeesh?"

Scott stepped in front of me to continue looking at me with sincere, brown, puppy-dog gaze, and I resisted the urge to snap at him. "Savannah, that's not what I'm talking about, and you know it." I rolled my eyes to the sky and he stepped forward again. "You're not the same because you have us now! You're not alone. And you don't need saving."

" _Okay_ ," I snapped, harsher than I'd intended. Allison and Stiles looked on in surprise. I clenched my jaw and tried to rein in the uncomfortable awkwardness that was bubbling under my skin. "Can you let me go now?"

He sighed, but stepped out of my way. I clenched my jaw and tromped through the woods, past all of them and back towards the van. But I didn't go in there. I went to sit at the same tree from before, letting my thoughts finally take over.

There's so much that they don't know about me. They think I'm some poor unfortunate soul, that I'm some wayward orphan with no one to love and nothing to call my own—but the truth is, I'm still just a street rat. I'm not any better than I ever was.

I'm a werewolf now, so that means I'm not dependent on drugs. But I've still got that same mentality—I still can't understand what is apparently the most simple concept of friendship. I still can't receive a compliment without rearing up like they were force-feeding me hydrochloric acid. And I still can't see the good in people.

I've always believed that people don't do anything unless there's something in it for them. Even if it's _selfless_ , I don't believe that it is a purely selfless act. I believe people do good things so they can feel good about what they've done. Not because they want anyone else to _benefit_ from their actions, with no ulterior motive. Even when I want to see Rex, it's for selfish reasons. Even the most untouchable person in my life is susceptible to my own needs and wants. I want to see him so that he can give me that untainted look of worship, that pure form of love, and so I can go appreciate how simply he views life. So I can see how effortlessly he finds the good and the worst in people, even when it doesn't seem like he's watching or paying attention—but in reality, he's _always_ paying attention. He picks up on things like you wouldn't believe. He's disturbed people with his talent to figure them out.

But he doesn't do it for _them_. He does it because they fascinate him and he can't help himself.

So, no. People aren't selfless. They don't commit acts of courage and bravery just so that they can _lose_ in the end. They do it because they hope they'll win and everything will turn out all right.

Scott can assure me that I'm good all he wants, but the truth is, no one is truly _good_.

"Should have known you'd come to sulk over here," Stiles smartly quipped, and I sighed at him.

"Have you come to tell me how _great_ I am, too?" I sourly asked.

"No, because that would be a waste of time."

I blinked in surprise and looked up at him.

"I could try to tell you how much I've seen you change. I could point out how you don't have an insult ready to throw at people's heads the second they glance in your direction anymore, or how out of character it's been to watch you try and help someone like _Jackson_." I stared at him like a deer in headlights, my eyes wide and mouth agape like a complete idiot as he went on in that matter-of-fact tone. "And I could point out how well we've been getting along, and how glad I am that you're letting me see a part of you that no one else even knows exists."

Something in my chest lifted, and my tongue swelled up. I almost thought I might be hallucinating again. I wouldn't believe any of this for a second, if it weren't for the fact that Stiles didn't say any of this with a smile on his face or a compliment in his tone. He was telling me all of this like it was common sense, like he was listing what the forecast for the week was. It was completely and totally deadpan, and it was because of _that_ that I knew he wasn't trying to be _good_ , and I realized he was telling me the truth.

"But you would just scowl at me and probably tell me to go sit back on Scott's lap like a good little dog." A smirk tugged crookedly at my face as I continued to sit in stunned silence. "So I won't say any of that."

I looked down and clamped my mouth shut, picking at the hem of my shirt. "…Okay." I said, almost inaudibly, and Stiles plopped on the ground next to me. Neither of us said a word to try and fill the suddenly companionable silence. My mind was racing and I snuck a glance at him. Just as I worked up the gall to ask him a question, his phone chirped.

He read over the message and suddenly straightened up. Pure shock and excitement colored his features and he all but bounced in place as he flung the phone in my face and wagged the screen at me. "It's from Lydia!" He choked out, bobbing in place. "Oh, my god! It's from _Lydia Martin!_ "

"Oh?" I dryly asked, and he ran a hand over his hair.

"She wants to _meet me,_ holy _crap!_ "

He shoved the phone under my nose again and demanded that I read it back to him. I blinked up at him, my face flat and uninterested. He sighed and scooted forward. "Come on, Savannah, it's the only way I know that I won't be reading into this too much! You've got to tell me what this means."

I looked between his elated face and his phone for half a beat more before sighing and reluctantly reaching up to take the proffered phone with a heavy grip. Shifting a bit on my butt, I scanned the text and glanced up at him.

"Sounds to me like she wants to know why you ditched her the other night."

He choked a bit and snatched the phone back to read it a second time. "Wha—but… I talked with her. I did! Remember? I was going to follow you into the school, but you told me to stay with her so I did!"

I shrugged a disinterested shoulder and leaned back against the tree. "I dunno, Stiles. Lydia is a very needy girl. Maybe she had more to say."

"She was just crying!"

I smirked. "Did you find out why?"

"Well—not exactly. I mean, sort of? It had something to do with Jackson, though, I'm sure of that."

"Did she _say_ that?"

His mouth flopped and he glanced frantically between the screen and me. "Well… no, but—"

"Then maybe there's more to the story."

He contemplated my words and stared down at the phone as if hoping she would suddenly pop through the screen to explain herself to him. Finally, he looked back up at me. "Well what else is there?"

I sighed and rolled my eyes to the dark sky. "I don't know, Stiles! Why don't you ask her?"

He clamped his mouth shut and shifted, looking weary, as if I was testing him. "But I can't go."

"Why not?"

"Because… I… I'm with you."

"What am I, your keeper? You want to go."

"But I can't."

"Why?"

"Because!"

"Go! Go listen to the irrational mermaid cry her heart out to her about her boyfriend."

"I can't just _leave!_ "

"Stiles, you _want_ to go. And I can't think of a reason for you to stay." I looked back to him. "Can you?"

He sputtered, looking from me, to his phone, to the van, back to me, and back to his phone. "I…" He looked back up at me. "I guess not."

"Okay, then. Go!" And we stared at each other for a split second longer before he finally shifted to his feet.

He took a moment to brush the dirt and leaves off of himself before looking back down at me again. "Okay." He said, though he made no move to leave.

I smirked up at him. "If you don't go soon, you'll miss your window."

This spurred him into action, and he waved at me. "I'll be back!" Something thudded on the ground next to me, rolling at my feet.

"Okay," I disinterestedly called back. "We'll be here."

Stiles cast one final, fleeting glance over his shoulder before jogging on to wherever his jeep was at. I took a deep breath and reached forward to grab whatever he'd tossed at me. Brushing the leaves aside, I blinked down at the paper-wrapped turkey club sandwich. I swallowed and slowly reached out to take it, as if it would bite me or disappear. When nothing happened, I dragged it to my chest and sat back.

I leaned my head against the tree and closed my eyes, straining my ears to listen for Jackson. He was being suspiciously quiet, and I didn't think that boded well.

"Savannah," Scott said, puttering to a stop in front of me as I opened my eyes. "Where'd Stiles go?"

"Lydia." I said, and his eyes bulged a bit. "She wanted to talk about her feelings some more."

He clamped his mouth shut and looked away thoughtfully. It seemed like he had more he wanted to say on the matter, but he looked back at me and shifted awkwardly on his feet.

"Okay, then… so… are you okay? Out here?"

I rolled my eyes and scoffed knowingly. "Oh, my god. _Go._ "

He wanted to go be with Allison. And I had a feeling _they_ weren't going to be talking about their feelings. Or hell, maybe they would, I didn't know—didn't care. Scott acted much the same was Stiles did about leaving me, reluctant, but when I finally snapped at him, he relented and backed quickly to join Allison in her car. He left me with the implicit instruction to come get them if anything goes wrong. Anything _at all._

I leaned my head back against the trunk of the tree and lamented the fact that basically all of my pack had ditched me so they could go chat up their crushes. _Damn_. I'm starting to miss poker.

The van stayed eerily quiet, and as the sounds from Allison's car grew harder to ignore, so did the silence from Jackson. So, without further ado, I gave into my instincts and stood. Tossing the sandwich on the ground for later, I turned and set off with purposeful strides.

Cutting straight for the van, I lifted the handle. But it was locked. And Stiles had left. Closer now, I was able to hear Jackson shifting around inside and grunting to himself, so I threw caution to the wind and just snapped the damn handle as I jerked the door open.

Jackson quickly hid his hands between his legs and made me scrunch my face in disgust, my mind flying straight to the most perverted scenario I could imagine.

 _Ugh._ "Seriously?"

"What do _you_ want?" He snarled.

"I'm just a little suspicious of why you've been such a good prisoner." I narrowed my eyes at him and he twitched.

"How about you go bay at the moon and talk to someone who gives a shit?" He snarled, lunging at me for the first time.

I raised my eyebrows and let of the door to cock my head at him. " _My_ , Jackson, you seem a little… agitated. Is everything all right?"

He breathed in fury, his nostrils flaring as he looked down at me with wild eyes. Something on his shoulder started to catch my attention, but he finally spoke to me and I shut up. "They're _wrong_ about you," He maliciously hissed, his face strained with discomfort. My chest tightened and I dug my heels into the dirt underneath me. "You know that, right? You and I aren't anything alike—but you're not _good_. You're the same piece of shit you've always been. And you would sacrifice _any_ of them in a _second_."

"Shut _up_ ," I snapped, and his eyes sparkled with triumph, so he pushed on.

"And you know what's even better? So would _they_. Because they know it too! They already know what you really are, they'll _never_ forget where you came from!" He breathed in, his voice little more than a guttural snarl as dark green scales began to cascade over his chest and crawl up his neck. My eyes widened and I stepped back in surprise. "The truth is, you'll either get one of them killed or you'll do it _yourself!_ "

And with that, his entire face morphed into complete and total scales. I barely got Scott's name out of my mouth before Jackson crumpled in his seat and seized up, and I staggered back as his curled into a ball.

He suddenly sprang from his bench and snapped the chains and shackles from his wrists with a massive roar, and I gasped and slammed the van doors shut.

But I'd broken the lock. Before I had much time to think about it, the side of the van burst and the entire thing wobbled on its side as the Kanima came flying out from a huge hole.

It landed on all four feet, glanced over its shoulder long enough to shriek at me in warning, and bounded off in the night. I gasped and took off after it.

It went straight towards the cliff. I knew if it got there, there'd be no stopping it, and I couldn't let that happen. So I quickly let my rage take over and shifted, letting out a primal growl as I scrambled across the dirt in pursuit.

The Kanima slid to a halt just at the edge of a tree and suddenly climbed up it. I frowned and tore to a stop. Slowly, I crept forward and eyed the top of the tree as best as I could. But none of the leaves shook. None of the branches so much as swayed, and I squinted up and sniffed the air.

Apparently my nose was a bit slow on the pick-up, because it still smelled like it was coming from the van behind me. I took another step towards the tree and gasped as a sharp point sliced through the back of my neck.

I had just enough time to groan in disbelief before the Kanima sprang out from behind me and scrambled over the side of the cliff.

I managed one staggering step towards it before the poison took its effect and I collapsed on the forest floor, my head knocking sharply into the tree as I collapsed, unconscious in the leaves.


	33. Dreams

We all are living in a dream,

But life ain't what it seems.

Oh, everything's a mess.

And all these sorrows I have seen,

They lead me to believe

That everything's a mess…

But I want to dream

I wanna dream

Leave me to dream.

 _\- Dream, by Imagine Dragons_

* * *

 **Two Years Prior**

 _"You should be ashamed of yourself." The man was neat. He had neat grey hair, a neat apron, his clothes looked iron pressed. Maybe even dry-cleaned. His shoes were so new they shined—or maybe he just kept them really well. I stared at mine as he continued. I hunched in a chair and pretended to be anywhere else but here._

 _There was still snow outside. Christmas had passed months ago, but the early months of the new year meant cold weather, and cold weather meant snow. It made driving hazardous. I know because… well, I hate this time of year, anyways. Let's leave it at that._

 _"Do you think this is how the world works?" He continued, pointing at me from over the counter. My chair was sat in the front of the store, pressed right against the check out counter—facing away from the window. "You want something, you think it should be yours so you just—take it?" I clenched my teeth and hunkered lower, trying to stifle the heat in my cheeks as a customer peered curiously at me where I sat._

 _How I must look to them. To all of them. Ratty sneakers, a few sizes too big. Same for my hoodie. A few sizes too big. And, of course, the theme follows through to my jeans… a few sizes too big. I was tempted to lift the hood so that I could hide in it like a turtle in its shell… so I didn't have to actively ignore the judgmental stares that all these strangers were throwing at me. My stomach rumbled noisily and my cheeks flamed even more, and I pressed my hand deep into the tight, gaunt abdomen there._ Stop it _._

 _"Well, I got news for you, little girl—that is_ not _the way of the world. Do you know how lucky you are that you stole from_ my _store? Do you know how lucky you are that I'm a Christian!?"_

 _Ducking my head, I rolled my eyes and ran my hand over my dry knuckles with a heavy sigh._

 _"Do you have something you want to say?" He paused to tell his customer to have a nice day and to fill out the survey on their receipt for how their service was. My eye twitched. "Because if so, I don't want to hear it. You can keep your mouth shut, you got that? I don't even want to see you_ breathe _in anyone's direction." He turned to begin restocking the paper bags, making sure to knock things around in his fury. "Just wait until your parents get here. Oooh, if you were_ my _kid? Hah!" And with that, he began to grumble, and I wanted to tell him not to hold his breath. My parents wouldn't come._

 _The door jingled open behind me, blowing in a fresh wave of icy, biting air. I did my best to look nondescript and blend in with the wall—shrinking even more into my chair as whoever entered paused in the door way. "Savannah?"_

 _I jerked my head up and gawked at Jack with wide eyes. He had a black jacket on, and his jeans looked weird. They were a little too baggy. They slung low on his hips and there was a chain hanging from one of the pockets. My eyebrows twitched as I took in this new style he'd adopted, and I finally let my sheepish gaze flit back up to meet his crystalline blue eyes. His mouth was turned into a deep frown. His eyebrows were so close together that they looked to almost be one single piece, and he immediately rushed over to me. "What happened?"_

 _"What happened?" Bellowed the storekeeper, nearly falling over the front of the counter to wag his finger at me. "I'll tell ya what happened! This little street rat tried to_ steal _from my store!_ My _store!"_

 _Jack's frown, if it's possible, deepened, and he looked down at me. I focused intently on the white, tattered laces of my filthy shoes. "Is this true?"_

 _"Oh, she'll deny it! Don't you know anything? Where are your parents? I want to speak to your father!"_

 _Jack's face hardened and he stepped away from me, focusing entirely on the store clerk now. "He's busy." He said flatly, his jaw clenching. "What happened?"_

 _"I can wait." The store clerk folded his arms over his chest and stubbornly lifted his chin at Jack._

 _"Our parents died last year." Jack stepped up to the counter and lowered his voice, speaking in a much quieter, calmer tone than the clerk._

 _The clerk snorted and threw his hands up. "Figures!" I felt something in my chest harden, and I clenched my fists at my side. "A girl needs her father to teach her right from wrong. You know somethin', you're lucky I didn't call the police!"_

 _Jack's fist tightened at his side and I could practically hear him counting to ten in his head. "Sure. Thank you for calling me. What'd she steal?"_

 _The clerk snickered bitterly, as if to tell Jack he needed to see it to believe it. He turned away, wagging his finger at both of us with a shake of his head, and pulled up a small box. Slamming it loudly on the counter, he peered over Jack's shoulder at me pointedly as he took the lid off and slammed two metal cans onto the laminate counter._ Thud, thud.

 _Jack's fist clenched even tighter as he stared down at the items. He breathed through his nose, his eyes bright and nostrils flaring. His ears had gone red. He glanced up at the clerk without moving his head. Finally after a long moment, Jack spoke. "This is what she stole?"_

 _I shrank into my seat farther, wishing I could disappear. Humiliation tinted my cheeks and I felt my lip trembling. I bit it and silently scolded myself for being a baby._ Don't cry. Do _not_ cry.

 _"She would have, if I hadn't been watching her like a hawk!" The clerk boasted. "Yeah, I caught her, though. Sneaking through the aisles like an alley cat. Her pockets looked three sizes bigger than they were when she came in. Second time this week she's come in here—no telling what else she took! You know, I'm starting to think maybe the police are needed—"_

 _Jack's hand smacked on the counter, and the clerk stared down at his fist. Silence filled the store and I lifted my head for the first time to see what was going on. Had he done something rash? Was he threatening him in some way? Was he going to get in trouble because of me?_

 _I straightened in my seat, craning my neck past Jack's coat to peer up at his hand. Underneath it was a crisp ten-dollar bill. Jack was staring intently at the store clerk, looking angrier than I'd ever seen him._

 _The store clerk slowly looked up from the cash to my brother's face. "What is this?"_

 _"I think this should cover a can of soup and soda." Jack said darkly, and the clerk's head practically popped off._

 _My chest warmed. I felt shock rolling through me as I sat back in my seat and gawked at the back of Jack's head. He didn't even so much as flinch when the clerk snatched the money out from under Jack's hand. They tore at each other for about another minute, before Jack stormed out with three cans of soup and a small pack of soda in tow. He didn't even tell me to follow him._

 _But I scurried out after him like my life depended on it. Jack was stalking up the sidewalk, and as soon as the door jingled when I burst through it he came to a halt and turned to hold his hand out for me._

 _I stared at him just outside the store, panting heavily. His face wasn't as red anymore. He looked tired, with the grocery bags fisted in his hand, as he shook his other one out at me impatiently. "Come on."_

 _I looked down at the bags and back up at his face. And I said the first thing that came to mind, my vision swimming as my chest felt like it had a hundred pounds on it. "I'm sorry," I choked out._

 _Jack's face flickered, briefly crumpling with pain, and he dropped the bags on the sidewalk as he strode towards me. I flinched and irrationally expected the worst, but when his arms came up they just wrapped around me fiercely. I was almost fourteen, but he still lifted me up off the ground like I was a kid._

 _The shock rolled off me like water on a duck's feathers, and I locked my arms around his neck without thinking. A small sob racked my frame as I squeezed him like my life depended on it, muttering an apology over and over into his neck. He squeezed me back. "Stop apologizing," He said, fiercely, and I shuddered out another sob. "Don't ever apologize for trying to survive, Savannah. To anyone."_

 _I sobbed loudly, my heart pouring out. Relief and guilt intermingled to make for a pretty powerful emotion, and I couldn't help but cry. He stroked the back of my hair and shook his head. "Do you hear what I'm saying?" I nodded and he tightened his arms. "You didn't do anything wrong."_

 _Maybe we had it wrong. Maybe Jack telling me that it's okay to steal wasn't right, because after all—from what everyone said, from the way the customers looked at me and the way the clerk reacted, you'd think I'd pulled a gun on them and demanded all the cash from his drawer. But I learned on that day that it's okay to do what you need to so you can survive. If it's the last option you have left, you need to do it. Sometimes we don't have a choice._

 _And maybe that's wrong. But it's my life. When I had calmed down enough, Jack decided to lead me back to his apartment. "How's school?"_

 _I had my hands shoved deep in my pockets as we walked through the slush-coated streets. I sighed, my breath fogging in front of me. "It's school."_

 _"Yeah, I get that." Jack smirked. "Are you getting along okay?" I knew what he was asking. He meant the home I'd been forced to move into—court ordered. He meant the kids that had been all but attacking me lately—not court ordered. He meant school, but more specifically, he meant my grades. He was trying to fit all the responsibilities of a parent into one single question. Honestly, our lives are so backwards I can't even begin to express it…_

 _"Is the apartment ready for me to move into yet?" I asked, my voice slightly nasally because my nose was still stuffed up from crying. Jack's hand shifted the bag, his other coming up to run nervously over his short hair. A habit we shared._

 _"It's—it's getting there. It'll take a little more time."_

 _I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes to the sky, rubbing my nose._

 _"You know you can't stay there all the time, right?" Jack gently said, and I scowled at a street lamp as we passed it, muttering under my breath. "I know it sucks, but we have to follow the judge's orders. I can't just take you in. It doesn't work that way."_

 _"Fuck the judge," I snapped, and Jack burst out a surprised laugh._

 _"Since when do you cuss?"_

 _"Since when do you have enough money for an apartment?" I countered, and Jack sighed heavily and looked away, and we continued around a corner._

 _"Since I got a job."_

 _"You've got a job?" I raised my eyebrows to give him an only slightly mocking expression. He didn't smirk like I expected, he reached up to rub his hair again and shrugged noncommittally._

 _"Yeah, it's just something low key."_

 _"What is it?"_

 _"It's—on a construction site."_

 _"A construction site?" I knew my face scrunched up this time. "What do you know about construction?"_

 _"Hammer and nails, hard hat and steel-toe boots. How hard can it be?"_

 _I scoffed and looked away. "Don't get yourself killed, okay? If someone yells to move, move."_

 _"You been on a construction site?" He teasingly asked, and I pursed my lips._

 _"I've been around enough."_

 _"All right, Oliver Twist."_

 _"That doesn't make sense."_

 _"You read too much."_

 _I scoffed and we came to a stop in front of a pretty slummy looking apartment building. It was grey, instead of the redbrick I'd imagined. There were metal trashcans lining the side of it, and the plants they'd tried to set in the giant pots outside the entrance died a long time ago. They were covered in snow, anyways. The windowsills dripped with the melting slush. It looked about six years too old, like it should've been knocked down a while ago, and I could hear the sounds of people living inside. Squalling babies and hackling men._

 _I loved it._

 _Jack shrugged a shoulder and made a joke about some luxurious hotel I didn't recognize, gesturing me to follow him. He was acting a bit strange, but I was too distracted by the surroundings and basking in the rare-interaction I was able to have with Jack to pay much attention. He'd glance all around me, quick to usher me through hallways. We took the stairs even though I was hoping to take the elevator._

 _We had to take eight flights of stairs, up to almost the very top, and when we pushed through the door and into a hallway I could smell what might've been boiling hotdogs._

 _Well, it's not the nicest place, but I'll take boiling hotdogs and dead plants over lice-ridden hairbrushes and snarling children._

 _A man in a sweaty tracksuit rounded a corner we were headed for. Jack swore under his breath and stepped in front of me slightly, and I slowly shut up as I watched the fat man with his thinning hair call out boisterously to my brother._

 _He clapped him on the shoulder, going on about some fight. Something clicked in my mind then. I flashed back to when mom and dad were alive, so many months ago, when Jack had been in trouble for street fighting. Had he lied to me about this construction site? Was he fighting again?_

 _Jack was quick to try and brush the man off, but he wasn't quick enough. His beady black eyes caught sight of my dirtied face and he skidded to a stop. He stared at me, his eyes flickering over my frame before they slowly turned back to Jack._

 _"Who's this?" He said, lowly. Lecherously._

 _Jack stiffened and put a hand on my shoulder, pushing me farther down the hall a bit. "That's just my sister."_

 _Understanding dawned on the man's face, and he tilted his chin back and crossed his arms. "Now, J, we been over this—"_

 _"It's just for the night, Clyde."_ Clyde _eyed us suspiciously. "Come on, please. She ain't got anywhere else."_

 _"Don't feed me that shit," Clyde snapped, his finger in Jack's face as his ears turned pink with anger. Jack's jaw clamped shut and he looked like he was dying to say more, but he stayed quiet as Clyde looked between us. "You know what the deal was. I'm letting you stay here for two-hundred-fifty a_ month _. You get what that means, right?" Jack nodded. "You get why I can't let you keep her, right?"_

 _I felt something inside me snap. I wanted to interject, to try and convince this man to change his mind, and as if Jack knew what I was thinking, he touched my shoulder and pushed me behind him as he spoke. "I know—I_ know _, Clyde. It's just for tonight." Clyde watched my brother, apparently torn. Jack blinked at him. "I swear."_

 _"She's got a perfectly good foster home, by the way. Don't think I don't know that... and I want her_ out of here _by eleven o'clock tonight." Clyde pointed at us again and began to turn away. Jack loosened in relief and hastily pushed me down the hall with a few parting comments to Clyde._

 _"One day at a time," Jack muttered. For some reason, those words resonated with me and brought me some small, inexplicable semblance of comfort._

 _He hurried to unlock his apartment and pushed me in._

* * *

 **Present Day**

"You should be ashamed of yourselves." Sheriff focused on Stiles first, who fidgeted in his seat and grumbled to himself. He looked to Scott, who started to say something, but one look from Sheriff muted him. He turned his eyes onto me. It wasn't an unfamiliar expression. I raised an eyebrow at him and he let out a long sigh. "I mean, I just can't understand _why_. What could possibly possess you kids to _kidnap_ Jackson? Is this—" he focused on me, his gaze troubled. "Does this have something to do with…" I raised my eyebrows impatiently, and he glanced away briefly. "I mean, this doesn't have anything to do with your crush on him, right?"

Stiles snorted and Scott bit a knuckle and sank in his seat, and I bit back a laugh. Of all the things I'd expected him to accuse me of, that's gotta be the very last one. I had honestly forgotten about that lie. My face burned red and I fumbled with what to say. "It's not—well…" I slid a glance over to the other two boys, and as much as I hate to admit it—I considered using the excuse. They gave me wide-eyed, silent looks, mutely _screaming_ at me not to say another word. Apparently it wasn't quite as funny when I went along with it. "Do you really want to know?"

Sheriff's face was pulled into a taut frown. He squinted at me, and only me, and the silence grew deafening. I held my breath and struggled not to look away, my fingers tight on the arms of the chair I sat in, next to Scott. Sheriff finally narrowed his eyes. "…You know what? Never mind. I don't wanna know. It doesn't matter why. Do you three _know_ how lucky you are that he's not pressing charges?"

I raised an eyebrow and blew out a slow sigh as I marveled at that little fact. I can't remember the last time someone's not pressed charges against me. Usually, my attitude doesn't help my case, and whoever it is doesn't think twice before going to the police.

But having connections helps. In many ways. Especially when you're involved with the Sheriff's son. It seems that people are more reluctant to bring a punishment over on Stiles and Scott, and I couldn't blame them.

None of us said a word. I mean, what can you say? Sheriff sighed and ran a tired hand over his face. "Jackson's dad wants to sit down with all of us. He's going to want to be there to make sure you all understand _every single_ part of the restraining order."

I resisted the urge to voice my thoughts. I mean, it seemed pretty self-explanatory to me. A court order to restrain us from interacting with Jackson, or to be in the same room as him, or to look at him. If they could order us to keep even his _name_ from our thoughts, they'd do that, too.

Sheriff went on about the finer details of what exactly all of this meant for us for a moment, but to be totally honest with you, I zoned out. There was undeniable tension between us. We were all pretty upset that we'd let him get away. From what I could tell, Scott was agitated with me for not immediately screaming his name like a damsel in distress, I was pissed at myself for being so freaking useless, and Stiles was peeved at himself for not being there.

The real question is why I couldn't handle the situation. I seriously thought I had more control over things than this. Jackson's words had gotten to me more than I care to admit.

"I'll be back to bring you in. Don't move." Sheriff headed for the door, and when he got there, he paused and turned to look at us. "Don't move." He reiterated, and we peered at each other awkwardly. Hesitating, he opened his mouth, closed it, and turned back towards the door again. He sighed and hung his head for another moment before finally opening his door and stepping into the hall.

I looked at Scott and Stiles, who were immediately out of their seats. Scott called Allison and she answered on the second ring. We'd already called her once, as soon as we found out that Jackson was here instead of rampaging through the city, but when Sheriff had come back into his office we had to hang up, and the rest… well, then he started in on us, and now he's gone back to speak with Jackson's dad some more.

"Jackson got a _restraining_ order against you three?!" She exclaimed, and Stiles and I locked eyes. He was perched behind his dad's desk while Scott stood in front of it, his back to me. I stayed in my chair, slouching down and kicking my feet up on the desk.

"He's just being dramatic," I dismissed with a wave, and Scott and Stiles both seemed slightly put off by how well I handled the situation. "What? It's not like this is the first time I've been in this position."

"You've had a restraining order against you before?" Scott frowned.

"Who?" Allison's voice cackled over the phone.

"Savannah."

" _No_. I meant I've been in this _position_ before. I've been in the police station for something I—you know what? Never mind, let's talk about the bestiary." Stiles and Scott both raised their eyebrows at me, but I ignored them. "You know, I hate say I told you so, but…" I smirked and shrugged a shoulder. Stiles rolled his eyes and Scott frowned at me questioningly. "Well, I _said_ that whoever erased that video did it to protect themselves, didn't I?"

"So, what, someone is controlling Jackson and using him to kill people?" Allison deduced.

I shrugged again. "Kinda looks that way, doesn't it?"

"Crap." Stiles breathed. "Well… who?"

None of us had an answer. "We need to find out more." I crossed my arms and shifted in my seat. "Hell, for all we know it could be Derek!"

Stiles and Allison both barked out a surprised laugh, and Scott immediately shook his head. "No way, he wants to kill it. Why would he be—I mean, what? He wants to kill himself?"

"Maybe he's throwing suspicion off himself," I darkly mused, though I didn't actually believe my own words. Stiles and Scott exchanged uneasy glances, and I sighed. "Or _maybe_ it's Ms. Morrell, and she told us that it sought a _friend_ to throw us off even more!" They both rolled their eyes now, and I smirked relentlessly. "Look, all I'm saying is that we can throw out names all night, but until we have more _facts,_ it's just speculation."

"But—" Stiles started, and cut himself off because he couldn't think of anything to actually refute me. All of them were—understandably—frustrated.

"I mean, do _you_ want to accuse the wrong person of this?"

The impending silence said it all. We needed to take a moment to breathe, and to recalculate. Scott sighed and ran a hand over his bushy black hair, stirring a memory of someone else doing that exact motion in the back of my mind. I shifted in my seat and let my feet fall from the desk uncomfortably. "Let's—let's take the night and think it over. We just need to get through this in one piece."

"One day at a time." I muttered, and Scott nodded with another sigh.

"Right." His brown eyes focused on me with a kind expression that seemed out of place in our situation. I blinked at him, and though I once would have scowled, something inside me had softened a bit towards the guy. I simply blew my hair out of my face and sat back in my seat, finally tugging the hairband from the bottom of my black hair.

It fell like it'd been waiting to tumble out of its trap, falling across my shoulders and into my face. I sighed and turned upside down, flipping my hair over. As I was finger-combing it and trying in vain to get it to settle down, cursing myself for even trying to get it to cooperate in the first place, the door opened.

"Let's go," Sheriff gruffly commanded. I heard the shuffle of feet as the others filed out. I quickly flipped my hair up and saw that Stiles lingered, waiting for me behind the desk.

"You ever been bitched out by a lawyer before?" I smirked, and Stiles raised his eyebrows and pretended to mull it over.

"No, no, not lately…"

"You're in for a treat." I said, running my hands over my hair a few more times. "How do I look?" I asked with a mocking flourish, flapping my hand and batting my eyes like a debutante.

His eyes flitted over me and he shrugged a shoulder. "Honestly?" I raised an eyebrow as if to say _you have to ask_. He drew in a small breath. "You look like you need about three showers."

"I guess getting attacked by The Lizard and knocked out in a forest'll do that to you. I always knew Disney was lying to us..." I dryly quipped as he joined me and I elbowed him playfully. "They got showers here for the fine boys in blue?"

Stiles snorted. "I've got a shower at home."

My eyebrows rocketed and Stiles' cheeks lit up like hot coals. He gasped and I bit back a laugh.

"I mean! You can use it!" My expression didn't change, and my lip tugged up in amusement. "If you need to. If you want. After this. You can come over. I mean, where else do you have to go?"

This thought sobered me up. The smile fell from my face and I sighed. "Yeah. I ain't got anywhere else."

He visibly cringed at my grammar, drawing a laugh from me. We walked into the interrogation room like that, with a blush still fresh on Stiles' face, and a rare laugh lighting mine up.

The last ones there, Sheriff gave us both a scolding glare as we stepped in. I quickly ducked my head and coughed out my laugh, raising my knuckles to my mouth to cover my smile. Stiles gave his dad an unapologetic look, throwing his hands up as if to ask him what he did wrong. Sheriff's eyes narrowed dangerously and he pointed at the empty seats without a word, and Stiles quickly strode to join Scott's side.

Jackson's dad didn't look a thing like him. Still pretty well built and well kept, but that was probably more a product of his job/income than similar genes. His hair was a dark brown and his eyes matched, and his skin was pallor in tone.

Boy, did he look _pissed_. I think the casual way Stiles and I had entered was what he considered poor taste, because it seemed like the tension in the room was kicked up about ten degrees, along with his temper.

The Sheriff gave a tired sigh and silently took a rather large packet of paper from the vexed man, glancing briefly at us before beginning to recite—verbatim—the text on the crisp white pages.

Don't stand within fifty feet, don't try to communicate directly or indirectly, no this, no that, no fun, no daydreaming, no breathing, blah-blah-blah. I zoned out as I began to seriously mull over the point Stiles made earlier.

Where _do_ I have to go tonight? Last night, we basically stayed up the entire time. The night before that I still had the warehouse. Geez, my life moves at an agonizingly slow pace… But the point is, I had nowhere to sleep. The cold reality chilled all the good mood that had been warmed into my veins by Stiles. I would have to take to the streets again. Oh, God. Do I have to take to the streets again?

"Do you understand these terms as they have been explained to you?" Sheriff asked me. I stared at my boots, not listening in the slightest as I tried to think of a place to go. Sheriff glanced at Jackson's dad, who seemed extremely unimpressed with my lack of attentiveness. Stiles elbowed me.

"What?" I snapped, glaring at him. His mouth popped open sheepishly and he awkwardly clamped it shut, gesturing to the rest of the room. My eye twitched as I looked around. "What'd I miss?"

Jackson's dad stiffened and Jackson actually winced. His father finally cracked.

" _Unbelievable!_ Who is this—this _delinquent_ that your boys are hanging around now?" He bellowed, his face going red.

Unfazed, I tilted my head curiously at the man. " _My_ , counselor, is this how you conduct yourself in court, as well?" I could literally hear his blood pressure rising. "I suspect you've lost many a case to that poor tact."

And it all went down hill from there. His dad exploded. Stiles and Scott actually shrank in their seats, Jackson seemed pretty smug, and I watched blankly as Sheriff tried to calm the seething man. I slid an amused glance over to Stiles, who only gave me a withering, unappreciative glare as the attorney redirected his ire onto his dad.

Regret ate at me when I saw Sheriff taking the brunt of the blowback from my rebellion. Sheriff caught our gaze from over his shoulder, subtly gesturing for us to take our leave. We quickly took note and without further delay, we silently fled the room.

No sooner had we snuck into the hall, Melissa McCall pounced her son. She practically took him by the ear and dragged him away from us. In her haste, she failed to notice me. Seeing her dark curly hair and warm features threw me quite abruptly and violently back into the absolute darkest part of my life. All the way back to the hospital-stay I'd had when… Well, you know.

I swallowed thickly and looked back at Stiles. He lingered outside the door and was focused on watching his dad get chewed up one side and down the other. "How ' _bout_ that guy, huh?" I tried weakly, hooking my thumb over my shoulder.

Stiles gave me an acidic look, melting my smile off my face.

"Oh— _fine_ …" I turned away slightly, but peered at him from the corner of my eye. "I'm—you know… I didn't mean for Jackson's dad to turn all Hulk-y on your dad."

Stiles gave me a mildly surprised look and I practically squirmed. His mouth hooked down at the corner, but his eyes had softened a bit as he shrugged a shoulder. "Well, it's not you. I'm… this is my fault."

I almost groaned in exasperation. "Oh, not this again," I rolled my eyes and Stiles stiffened. "Look, Stiles, we're all equally at fault here." I paused and looked away. "If that helps you at all."

His eye twitched. "Not really, no," He said, peering through the window again. "Ugh, _God_ , I wish I could hear them!"

My eyebrows propped up and I stepped behind the taller boy to peer over his shoulder. "Well, right now Jackson's dad is trying to figure out _how_ the Sheriff could have let this happen."

Stiles scoffed and stuttered incredulously. "But—what! He had no idea! What? What was he supposed to do?!"

I raised an eyebrow and smirked up at him. "Jackson's dad sounds like every other pissed off parent when they're defending their kid. Rationality isn't …"

" _The_ only _reason I'm not pressing charges against them is because if I pressed them against one, I'd have to do bring them_ all _to court! And I_ won't _do that to your son because of all_ you've _done to help me out. But I'll tell you this, Sheriff: if you don't get a handle on your son, you're going to be forced to make an example out of him. You can't continue to treat him like family! Not when he's breaking the_ law _! Do you get that? Do you understand—"_

"What? What—what's he saying!?" Stiles was torn between shaking me by the shoulders and pressing his face against the glass of the door. Right now, he had my shoulders firmly in his grip and he was practically frothing at the mouth to get me to speak.

My mouth hung open and I found it difficult to tear my eyes away from the scene inside the interrogation room. The Sheriff seemed tired, beaten down and at a loss for words as he—much more evenly than Jackson's dad, and with a show of restraint I'm not sure many people could exercise in his situation—calmly persuaded him from off the proverbial ledge.

I blinked many times and shook my head, looking down at my feet. "Oh god," Stiles dreadfully moaned. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"Your dad is just… doing his job." I finally said, focusing on Stiles' face. He looked ready to explode at my explanation.

" _Oh my god!_ Are you always this vague?"

Unable to resist, I somehow found a smirk and raised an eyebrow. "I dunno."

Stiles snapped. He dropped his tense hands from my shoulders and threw his arms up, dramatically leaning into the wall as he exclaimed over how distinctly _unhelpful_ I was being, and what was the point of having me around if I wouldn't use my werewolf senses to help him out? I bit back my amusement and looked up at Scott.

His mom had paused in the middle of her sentence. I could tell because her mouth was hanging open and her eyes were intently focused on me. She squinted, and then recognition dawned on her. Her face scrunched up and she flew back to her son, whispering furiously and glancing back at me every now and then.

"Stiles," I said, looking back to him and cutting him off mid-rant. "You need to apologize to your dad."

"Wha—" He frowned, looking over me as if seeing me for the first time. "I _know_ that," he said defensively.

"But since you won't hear it from him and it clearly needs to be said… you didn't do anything wrong." I stunned him into silence. He frowned at me like I'd grown two heads. "Well, no more than the rest of us. You were right when you said we needed that police van. And you didn't do anything wrong, or let anyone down when you went to talk with Lydia."

He jerked back like I'd read straight out of his diary. Brushing a nervous hand down his jacket, he took another few seconds to gawk at me before the sputtering began. I sighed and turned away as I casually interrupted him, keeping my voice light so as to not make a fuss over what I was saying. "Stiles, honestly. You should be able to go talk to your crush without having to worry about your world crashing and burning behind you."

"I should've just stayed with you." He said, his voice angry as he frowned at the wall like it was the one to blame.

I glanced away and smirked. "How'd it go?"

He frowned up at me.

"With Lydia?" I pressed. "How'd it go?"

He clamped his mouth shut and turned away to tug at his ear. "It—uh… well… she was mostly trying to find out more about what happened at Scott's house. Apparently Allison told her not to ask any questions. _Lydia_. She told _Lydia_ not to ask questions."

I pursed my lips and raised my eyebrows at him playfully. "Seems like you think that maybe that was a waste of time?"

Stiles scoffed and abruptly relaxed, shaking his head. "Lydia asks more questions than anyone I've ever met. And if she doesn't ask, it's because she already knows the answer. Sometimes she'll ask even if she does know the answer though, it's easy to tell when that happens because—"

"So what did you tell her?" I didn't care to hear about Lydia's funny little quirks that Stiles probably has catalogued in some creepy journal he keeps about her. He swallowed and looked away, scuffing his shoe on the floor.

"Well, I… I told her… Scott needed me to come pick him up from the hospital and that I was really sorry, but I needed to go."

My jaw hit the floor. "You ditched her _again?_ "

Stiles reared up. "I didn't ditch her!" His hands flapped as he tried to rationally explain away his actions. "I—I just… panicked."

I scoffed and chuckled lowly, shaking my head as I wagged a finger at him. "Ohhh, Stiles… you just ruined any progress you've made with her."

"I know that," He snapped. I raised my eyebrows at him and his eyes were enough to tell me that he wasn't actually angry with me, just frustrated with the situation. "But what was I supposed to do? I can't tell her anything about the Kanima. If we can keep her out of this, then that's what should happen."

And I was impressed, once again, with his unflinching loyalty and affection he harbored for Lydia Martin. I sighed and looked back at the door of the interrogation room, shaking my head as the two men inside made their way towards us. "You did the right thing." I said, softly, and Stiles grunted quietly to himself.

His dad finally emerged, Jackson's dad brushing roughly past us to go grab his son. I stepped away as Sheriff immediately set in on Stiles, letting them have their moment. As I made my way down the hall, I dodged the fight ensuing between Scott and Melissa as well, ignoring the gaze she turned on me as I went.

I quickly squashed any memories that rushed to the surface upon seeing her face. The station was relatively calm. Many of the officers were practically lounging behind the reception desk, or behind their own personal desks. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, glancing at the time. It was verging on midnight.

Stiles had been the one to shake me awake in the Preserve. There was a bit of blood matted on the crown of my head, I knew, from when I'd so gracefully swan dived into the tree trunk. And my hair felt positively bushy. My hands were dirty, so that's usually a good indication of how I smelled to others. I could still hear the conversations carrying on around me—if I had cared enough to listen. But I didn't.

I found a bench pressed against the wall, reeking of Jackson's expensive cologne, and I unceremoniously plopped myself onto the bench to wait for the others. It's not like I had anything better to do.

The receptionist was the same one that Derek had flirted with all that time ago. I scowled at her as she flickered her judgmental little gaze over my disheveled state, growling quietly when she raised a distasteful eyebrow and wrote me off.

And I was in the midst of planning how I could staple her collar onto the wall behind her without being caught when Stiles and Sheriff passed by.

"Savannah, come on." Sheriff called. I blinked in surprise at Stiles, who simply gestured impatiently for me to join them. Looking around for only a second more, I rose to my feet and hesitantly followed them, my boots thudding heavily on the floor.

I frowned questioningly at Stiles. He flickered his eyes over me and I reared up in surprise, tugging self-consciously at my shirt. _Stop_. "I was serious when I said you need a shower. You look like Regan in the Exorcist."

"Aw," I smartly quipped. "You're so sweet to me."

"You can stay with us tonight." Sheriff suddenly declared after we'd pushed through the exit and into the night air. Or is the morning air?

"What?" I snorted, and the Stilinskis both turned to raise their eyebrows at me.

"Savannah, you're not sleeping on the streets tonight." Sheriff sighed. "I'm way too tired for you to argue with me, so don't even try."

I gawped like an idiot, not budging until Stiles actually came around behind me to push me towards their vehicle.

"I don't feel comfortable with this." I blandly informed them.

Stiles mockingly pouted at me before quickly shrugging. "Aw, tough."

"This is…" I couldn't even find the words. _Wrong._

"I believe the phrase you're looking for is _thank you_." The Sheriff said, holding open the back door of his cruiser for me with his eyebrows raised. His tone was almost annoyed, and I took in the scene before me.

"You know…" I said, eyeing the cruiser hesitantly with Stiles still at my shoulder. "That's weird to hear the Sheriff say when he's holding open the back of the paddy wagon."

They simultaneously scoffed and rolled their eyes, and I almost shuddered at their similarity.


	34. Stilinski's House

**_If you didn't read my last chapter, go back and read it before you leave! It's a very important author's note._**

 ** _Enjoy! :)_**

* * *

Sheriff held the door open for us, Stiles leading the way into their house. I looked up at Sheriff's face, subtly giving him the chance to change his mind, and he nodded at the door. "C'mon," He said. "It's late."

I looked down at my shoes as I stepped inside and crossed my arms, lingering near the doorway. Sheriff shut the door and locked it, and I tried not to let that bother me. It's been a _long_ time since I've been inside a locked house. Stiles stood in front of the hall to the kitchen, his hand on the strap of his backpack as he watched his dad and me awkwardly.

Sheriff cleared his throat and stepped past me, his eyes on his son. "So, she can sleep down here tonight... Uh, Stiles, would you go get some fresh blankets from the closet?"

Wordlessly, Stiles shut his mouth and nodded, casting one final glance at me as he turned away to go retrieve the blankets. As he stepped out of the room and left me alone with his dad, I took a cautious step deeper into the entrance and looked over their living room. The couch seemed the most likely candidate for me to spend the night on.

"Look, I, uh…" I scratched anxiously at my nose. "You know you don't have to do this. I'm sure I could find somewhere to go." _Lie. That's a boldfaced lie, and we both knew it._

Sheriff nodded and began to take his uniform off, hanging his thick jacket on a coatrack by the door. "It's no trouble at all, really." He took of his belt, gun and all, and started to hang that by the door as well. But then he hesitated and glanced surreptitiously back at me, and I pretended not to notice as he quickly took the gun out of its holster and tucked it in the waistband of his pants, keeping it officially out of my reach. "To be honest with you, leaving you out on the streets would have only kept me up tonight. This way I know you'll have a roof over your head."

"Why do you care so much?" I blurted.

Sheriff raised his eyebrows at me. "It's my job," he tried, settling his hands on his hips.

"No," I frowned. "Your job is to lock the criminals away, not _invite_ them to sleep on your couch."

Sheriff scoffed and glanced away. "Savannah, is that how you think I see you? A criminal?"

I shifted and looked down, suddenly regretting this topic. "Well, I mean—"

"Savannah, you've been through so much." Sheriff took a step forward and rested his hand on the back of the couch. He paused and sighed deeply. "I'm trying to give you a chance, okay?" He watched me and I tried not to shift under his scrutiny. "If I were you, I'd take it."

Finally, I shrugged and ran a hand through my hair. "Uh, well, okay… thanks."

Sheriff seemed surprised to have actually heard me say the word, but before he could comment on it Stiles came back into the room with a folded blanket hanging over his arm. Immediately, Stiles sensed the awkward tension in the room, and he _must_ have heard that thank you. He paused in the doorway and looked between us until his dad took in a sudden breath.

Sheriff made his way towards his son, one hand on his hip, the other waving around as he spoke. "Well, I'm exhausted. I'm gonna go to bed—you two," He pointed to each of us knowingly. "School tomorrow, so get some rest."

Stiles pressed his mouth into a thin line as his dad squeezed past him to go down the hall, but before he disappeared he poked his head back out and pointed at me. "Oh, Savannah, uhh, listen. I get up pretty early to go into work, so if I wake you then I'm sorry. Just try to ignore me."

"I usually do," Stiles muttered, causing Sheriff to smack the back of his head. Stiles winced and turned around to throw his hand up questioningly as his dad disappeared down the hall, and I covered my snicker with my hand. He turned back to scowl broodingly at me, rubbing the back of his head. "It was a joke," He pouted, and went to toss the blanket on the couch.

We stood there awkwardly, both restlessly shifting and trying to find something to say.

"So—" We chorused, and I grunted as Stiles tried to cover it with a nervous laugh.

"Uh," He pointed down the hall. "The shower is just down there, you're welcome to use it."

I perked up. A shower inside an actual house sounded _heavenly_ , but I didn't want to be too eager, so I settled for nodding at him and eyeing the hall longingly. Stiles smirked at me and raised his eyebrows.

"You wanna—" He started, and I quickly nodded and brushed past him to get down the hall, his awkward laugh fading behind me.

* * *

When I finished my shower, I stepped back into the living room in my old clothes and continued scrubbing my sopping hair with the blue towel I'd found in their cabinet.

Stiles was in the living room with the television on, a bowl of popcorn on his lap where he had settled on the chair next to the couch. The lights were out and a black and white horror film was playing—and the whole thing was so _domestic_ that it brought me to a halt. I froze, towel in hair, looking over the living room displayed before me.

Stiles must have heard me, or felt my presence, because he sat forward and craned his neck. "Hey," He said when he spotted me, glancing periodically back at the TV. "I—oh, I can go," He started to stand, knocking some popcorn on the floor. "I was just gonna put this on for you and then I saw that _this_ was playing—and I love this movie, but you can't watch a movie like this without popcorn," He shrugged, hand gesturing to the television, and I shrugged with him, a smile playing at my lips as he babbled. "So I made some, and then—I must have gotten sucked in… I didn't forget you were here!" He suddenly declared, pointing directly at my face as if I had accused him of doing just that.

I raised my eyebrows at him and his nose twitched. A moment passed as he literally held his breath and waited for my reaction, and I glanced at the movie and smirked. "Did the little girl attack her parents yet?" I asked, and Stiles deflated in cautious relief as he glanced back at the screen.

"Nope, he just took her to the farmhouse." Stiles turned back to the screen as I went to take the bowl of popcorn from him and sat on the couch.

"So Barbara's about to go crazy," I deduced, and Stiles nodded excitedly as he hopped back on the chair and grabbed the blanket off the floor. "Hey—why are you not asleep yet?"

Stiles barely glanced over at me because the movie apparently sucked him in again. "Adderall," He absently explained, sinking into the chair.

I smirked at him and tried some of the popcorn. I scrunched my nose and looked down at the bowl. It was kind of burnt… Sighing, I took another handful and continued to eat it anyways. "From now on, I'm making the popcorn," I decided. Stiles looked at me in surprise and I pointed down at the bowl. "This is gross."

"Oh yeah?" He squinted his eyes and me and reached for the bowl, but I smacked his hand away. "Hey!"

"Get your own!"

"That _is_ my own!"

"Well, share!"

Stiles threw his hands up and frowned incredulously, wordlessly screaming _wtf_. "You just said it's disgusting!"

I tugged the bowl closer and drew my feet onto the couch as I shrank further away form him. "I like it," I pouted, and Stiles scoffed and shook his head at me in mild amusement.

He watched me for a few more seconds before grumbling to himself and settling back in his chair. I sighed and continued to eat the popcorn, smirking when Stiles jumped at something on screen. Once I had eaten all the popcorn I wanted, I passed the bowl back to him and lay back on the couch.

Stiles would ask me the occasional question about the movie, or make a passing comment, but other than that we sat and watched in relative silence.

The events of the day took their toll on me. My eyes grew dry and heavy, and it had been so long since I was clean and sitting in a warm, clean house, watching a movie, that I couldn't help but begin to drift off. I fell asleep with the blanket drawn over my shoulders and the armrest under my cheek, Stiles murmuring in the chair beside me.

* * *

"Stop here," I said, pointing out the window of Stiles' jeep at a gas station.

"What?" He frowned at me. "No, I don't need gas."

"Well, that's good for you," I dryly remarked, scowling at him. He frowned at me as I narrowed my eyes. "Pull over."

"Why? Scott and Allison are gonna be waiting for us at the library, we need to get there as soon as we can—"

"Stiles, I'm _hungry_. Don't you want some donuts?" I leaned slightly forward, dropping my voice as I spoke. "Some nice, freshly glazed donuts?"

He sighed and turned the wheel. "Fine—" He relented over my triumphant bellow, shaking his head. "But make it quick!" He'd barely pulled into a parking spot, and I was out of the jeep and swinging the door shut. "Wait!" Stiles called.

"What?" I ducked my head back in and Stiles bit his thumb as he peeked at me.

"Chocolate glaze, if they have it." I started to close the door and he called out again.

" _What?_ "

"If they have some with sprinkles and some without, get the kind without. And if they have the cinnamon twists, pick some of those up for Scott." I sighed and started to close the door again. "Wait! If they have orange juice, would you—"

" _Oh my god!"_ I yanked the door open and pushed my face in his, effectively shutting him up as he ducked out of the way. "I'm not your maid, Stiles! If you want all that, come get it yourself." And with that, I slammed the door shut and marched up to the door.

I heard the jeep shut off and the rusty squeal of the door swinging shut as Stiles scrambled to follow me. "Wait! Wait for me, I'm coming!"

* * *

We rolled into the library fifteen minutes later, bickering about what kind of juice is better than orange.

"Grape is too sour. I don't think there is a kind," I finally said. "Orange juice is just the king of juices."

"Cranberry?"

"Oh, my god, no," I sneered, throwing Stiles a completely disgusted look. "What?"

"I don't know," He sighed, shaking his head.

"What's the matter with you?"

"It's the sugar and the Adderall!" He shrugged, shaking his head. "It's making me all _hyper_ and my words got away from me. I didn't know what I was saying until it was too late!"

"Cranberry juice? Stiles? Really?"

"Guys!" Scott called, reaching out from one of the stacks and grabbing Stiles by the elbow. He yanked him roughly and almost caused him to fall over, and it took me a minute to realize where he'd gone. "Where have you been? What took you so long? Why are you together?"

"She stayed at my place last night," Stiles quickly explained, taking a large bite of his chocolate donut.

"Donut?" I asked, holding the bag out to Scott.

Scott blinked between us with a bewildered expression, glancing down at the bag. "Donut?" He frowned, taking the bag between his fingers. "No, I don't—oh, hey, is that cinnamon?"

Stiles elbowed me triumphantly and nodded at Scott as he pulled the cinnamon twist out of the bag with hunger in his eyes.

"Thanks," He said around a mouthful. He plucked Stiles' drink out of his hand and took a swig, ignoring his protests and drawing an amused smirk from me when Stiles all but stomped his foot. Scott made a face and shook his head, handing the drink back to Stiles. "Woulda been better if it was apple juice."

We gasped and I nudged Stiles, "I _knew_ we were forgetting one," I said, and he shook his head with a sigh.

"Shhh—here she is," Scott hoarsely whispered, drawing Stiles and I closer to one of the bookcases.

Stiles picked out a stack of them and gathered them in his arms, creating a small gap so Allison could peek through them from the other side. She passed a little black tablet through to Scott, a PDF of some sort of passage written in Latin displayed on the screen. "Here," she whispered, while still peeking around in paranoia. "It's everything Lydia could translate— _trust me,_ she was confused."

Apparently, her parents are really cracking down on her and Scott. As in, now her mom is in the office watching them on the cameras. I mean, I haven't had parental supervision for a while, but something tells me _that's_ taking things too far. Although, to be fair, Scott _is_ a werewolf, and her parents _are_ hunters.

Boy, they're like modern day Romeo and Juliet.

"Yeah, what'd you tell her?" Scott asked, zooming in on something on the tablet.

Allison sighed, an embarrassed smile playing at her lips as she glanced around. "That… we are a part of an online gaming community that battles mythical creatures," She scoffed sheepishly, shaking her head, and Scott grinned and ducked his head to hide his snicker.

"I _am_ part of an online gaming community that battles mythical creatures," Stiles frowned, glancing between Scott and Allison, and I barked out a laugh and grabbed his shoulder.

"You are _so_ cool," I grinned, as Allison and Scott both pretended not to be laughing. "Seriously? You have to show me that some time."

Stiles looked at all of us like…. Well, like he was the butt of a joke, and he knew it. I snickered again and winked at him, and he sighed and threw Allison a subtle dirty look.

"Does any of this say how we can find out who's controlling him?" Scott asked, drawing our attention back to the PDF of the bestiary.

"Not really," She said as she pulled the strap of her bag further up her shoulder. "But Stiles is right about the murders."

Stiles pumped his fist triumphantly and glanced between us again, as if to silently declare himself _redeemed_ from that small little gaming blunder earlier. I rolled my eyes at him and he frowned when he caught it. Before he could sa _y_ anything, Allison continued. "It calls the Kanima a _weapon of vengeance_. There's a story in there about a South American priest who uses the Kanima to execute the murderers in his village," She explained, a look of disgust snarling her nose.

Stiles nodded next to me as if it was the coolest thing he'd ever heard, still smug about being right in the first place, and I rolled my eyes at him again. "Alright, see?" He grinned. "So maybe it's not as bad as we thought it was—"

"— _until_ the bond grew so strong that it killed whoever it wanted to," Allison grumbled, grabbing a book from her shelf.

"All bad, all very, very bad," Stiles flatly amended, frustrated that even when he was right, it was wrong.

"The thing is, the Kanima is _supposed_ to be a werewolf, but it can't until—"

"Until it resolves that in its past which manifested it," Scott finished, reading directly from the translated passage on the tablet.

Stiles glanced at me and shrugged. "Okay, if that means Jackson could use a few _thousand_ hours of therapy I could've told you that myself."

I gasped and smacked his shoulder, " _Crap!_ That reminds me, I need to go see Ms. Morrell later."

They all paused to give me varying degrees of confused expressions, and Stiles cleared his throat and patted my shoulder. "Okay," He whispered dismissively, and I narrowed my eyes at him as Allison continued whispering. He widened his eyes and me and shrugged innocently.

"—what if it has something to do with his parents?" Allison frowned, and my eyebrows cinched together.

"His real parents?"

"Yeah," She nodded, glancing over at me. Stiles let go of my shoulder and placed his hand on the shelf over my head as she went on. "I mean, does anyone actually _know_ what happened to them?"

"Lydia might." Stiles nodded and all I could smell with him standing so close to me was just _waves_ of laundry detergent. I drew in an annoyed breath and subtly pushed him away as Scott spoke.

"What if she doesn't know anything?" Scott frowned, and I crossed my arms.

"Yeah, what then?" I asked, my voice innocent, but Stiles knew me well enough to detect the childish sneer when he heard it. He fixed me with a disapproving glare as Allison slid her book back onto the shelf.

"Well, Jackson doesn't have a restraining order against _me_ , so I'll just ask him myself."

My eyes flew to her and I snorted before I could stop myself. Stiles winced and Allison threw me a dirty look.

"What?" She challenged, tilting her head at me.

I hesitantly looked at Scott and Stiles before focusing back on her, trying not to snicker. "Are you kidding me? He'll chew you up and spit you out."

"Excuse me?" Allison frowned, shifting on her feet and forgetting to be cautious as she leaned forward. Stiles pushed me back when I tried to take a step forward and shook his head at me.

I drew in a breath as Scott took Allison's hand and whispered at her. Looking up at Stiles, I shrugged an unapologetic shoulder. "What?" I scoffed. "You know I'm right. I mean, how would that conversation even go? However Jackson's parents died, I can tell you this much—there's no way in _hell_ he's going to want to talk to _her_ about it."

Stiles sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, well, hopefully he won't have to."

I smirked in amusement at him. "What, you think _Lydia_ is going to tell you?"

He frowned at me and puffed his chest up. "She might," He said, and I snickered and nodded patronizingly.

"Sure, okay," I winked, and Stiles narrowed his eyes. "She might."

"Okay," Scott interrupted. "As much as I hate to say this, I've gotta go take a make-up test for Mr. Harris. You gonna go talk to Lydia?" He asked, nodding at Stiles.

Stiles nodded, glaring at me from the corner of his eye. "Yeah," He said. "Yep, yes I am. I am going to find out what happened to Jackson's parents."

"Sure you will." I smiled fakely and patted Scott and Stiles' arms. "Welp, I'm off to see a man about a horse."

"What does that even mean?" Stiles said as I stepped around them to exit the library.

I waved my hand over my shoulder as if that answered his question before quickly making my way to the hall.

The route to the guidance office was short. It was only about six doors down, and I was only about three doors away when I was intercepted by the biggest blonde bitch in town.

"Well, well, well," Erica started, like she'd ripped the horrible line straight out of a villain's mouth. "Look who we have here!"

"Ugh," I snarled as I looked her outfit with a disgusted scoff. " _Gross_. You look _especially_ whorish today. What's the occasion?"

She smiled insincerely at me and took a step forward, tilting her head. "How has it been, playing _house_ with your new pals? You feelin' good since you stabbed your pack in the back and left us for _dead_ the other night?"

"Uh oh," I mockingly pouted, crossing my arms. "Are you still bitter about that?"

" _Everyone_ is still bitter about that," Erica snapped, standing up straight. "I should do everyone a favor and—"

"And _what?"_ I challenged, shaking my head at her. "Do you even _think_ before you open your mouth, or do you just speak and hope that your tits will distract everyone?"

"You know Derek told us to keep an eye on you?" She tried, crossing her arms. "That's right."

"Oh, so, he's up to the same old shit." I blew out a bitter laugh and shrugged past her. "Coulda guessed."

"Just don't forget it! We're watching you!" She called, and I flipped her off as I stomped the rest of the way down the hall.

* * *

 _ **Review? :)**_


	35. Breakfast Club

I sat in the counselor's office, the sound of turning pages filling the room as Ms. Morrell flipped through the large packet detailing the restraining order Jackson had placed against me. I cleared my throat and sighed, my eyes glancing up at the ticking clock for the seventh time since sitting down.

We'd been in this position for about… fifteen minutes. Every now and then, a thoughtful hum would emit from Ms. Morrell as she read a particular line. She would highlight it, study it some more, and then turn the page again.

My patience was wearing extremely thin. Here I am, stuck in some _office_ while my guidance counselor looked over a useless packet of paper detailing rules I had no intention of following, meanwhile Allison is out confronting the boy in question, and Stiles is out imploring _Lydia_ to give us some answers! This is a _waste_ of my time!

I cleared my throat again and pressed my palm into my chin. Ms. Morrell shook her head and turned another page. Sitting up, I peeked at the packet to see which page she was on. Only two more to go. She hummed and raised her eyebrows, running the yellow highlighter across the page for an entire paragraph.

 _Seriously_. What could she _possibly_ find so interesting? I sighed loudly enough to make my point, sinking down in the seat and making as much noise as I could in the process.

Ms. Morrell paused in her thorough analysis, her gaze focusing on me. "Almost finished," She said, for the tenth time. I smiled fakely at her and she returned to the packet.

Twenty minutes later, she _finally_ , mercifully, closed the packet and put the highlighter down. Weaving her fingers together, she rested her hands on top the restraining order and focused on me with a smile. I drew in a deep breath and sat up straight.

"Let's talk about this… crush." She pursed her lips and fixed me with a knowing stare.

I licked my lips and uncomfortably cleared my throat, glancing at the clock again. "Oh… no."

Ms. Morrell raised her eyebrows. "No?"

"Yeah, nope, I don't think that sounds like something I want to discuss," I simply said, tilting my head almost challengingly at her.

"Well, Savannah, I understand that, but you know that this is something we're going to _have_ to discuss, don't you?" She placed her hand on top of the restraining order with her eyebrows raised.

"Sure, let's discuss _that_ then." I gestured to the packet and pulled my lips into a fake smirk. "I thought page thirteen was _particularly_ restrictive. Wouldn't you say?"

Ms. Morrell stared at me for a beat more before finally bringing her hands back together and smiling again. Her expression actually made me uncomfortable because she seemed… unfazed by my usual tactics. She spoke slowly and clearly, pausing on a word every now and then for emphasis. "You told Sheriff Stilinski that the reason you and your friends kidnapped and restrained Jackson in the Beacon Hills Preserve in the middle of the night is because you have a crush on him. Is that… correct?"

I was desperately fighting back a laugh, the corners of my mouth twitching as I struggled to remain stoic. "Uh," I said, clearing my throat and swallowing another laugh. "W-When you say it out loud it sounds… crazy."

"Why are you lying?" Ms. Morrell prompted, apparently choosing the _direct_ line of questioning.

I was careful to keep my face straight as I drew in a deep breath. "Well, you know, I wish I was." I swallowed roughly and bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. "It's been… _hard_." I tried, arranging my features into some sort of emotional display I _hoped_ translated to love-sick-teenager. "Can I be honest with you?"

" _Please_." She sat back with slightly narrowed eyes.

"The whole thing just really got out of hand." It wasn't exactly a lie, per se. Ms. Morrell perked up, sensing the honesty in that, and sat forward a bit to silently bid me to go on. "It started out with trying to get him alone, you know? I guess—I guess we thought if we could get him alone, if we could get him away from everyone else, maybe I had a better chance of getting through to him." I shrugged a shoulder. "The van was actually just… a bad plan."

She seemed conflicted. On the one hand, in a sense I _was_ being honest. On the other hand, this whole story we'd fabricated made absolutely _no_ sense and was totally out of character for me. I don't _get_ crushes. And when I do, I doubt I'd put two of my friends up to helping me kidnap him— _especially_ since it's highly unusual for me to even have friends in the first place.

The truth of the matter is that the first time I told Sheriff I had a crush on Jackson, I'd been thinking on my feet. I knew I needed an excuse that would answer questions Sheriff didn't even know to ask, while also scaring him off of wanting to pursue the topic further. At the time it made the most sense. Now it's just a pain in my ass.

"Okay, clearly we aren't getting anywhere today." She shook her head and picked up the papers to stack them neatly.

I sat up in my seat, cautiously hopeful as she began to put her things away. "So… can I go?"

"Yes, I'll tell Sheriff Stilinski that you're holding your end of the bargain and attending the sessions."

I swiped up my bag and nearly leapt out of the seat, but Ms. Morrell put her hand up. I froze and looked back at her in annoyance.

"On one condition," she amended.

I sighed and blew my hair out of my face, collapsing back on the chair with a loud huff. "I knew that was too easy."

"Tell me the color of Jackson's eyes."

I blinked. She stared back at me with her head tilted, waiting patiently for my answer. My eyes narrowed and I lifted my chin at her. "…This is a test, isn't it?"

"It's a simple question. If you really do like Jackson, this should be an easy one."

I scoffed and rolled my jaw, looking at the clock again. What _color_ are his _eyes?_ Um, I think they're _yellow_ with little black _slits_ like a goddamn snake with arms and legs!

I huffed out a sigh and shrugged petulantly. "Blue."

She narrowed her eyes and watched me. I kept my face straight and eyebrows raised. I mean, they're probably blue, right? He's got that golden, all-American-apple-pie vibe going, so that usually means neat hair and blue eyes… right? Did I get it wrong?

"I'll see you next week," She said tightly, frustration clear on her face as she turned away to file the papers back into my folder. I smirked triumphantly and stood with a flourish, all but strutting out of her office.

I stepped into the hallway with my shoulders back and a satisfied, smug expression on my face. Now for my next order of business…

I closed my eyes and sifted through everything I could hear. There was the hall, filled with sounds of lockers and people laughing and yelling at each other. Farther down, I could hear printers running in the library and cafeteria ladies preparing lunch. Past that were sounds of shoes squeaking on the gym floors, and past that were sounds of…

"I have a _restraining order!_ " Jackson bellowed somewhere deep in the locker rooms, followed by the frantic interception of Allison's higher pitched voice. It was tough for me to make out what was said, but I definitely heard Scott's voice and a resounding crash following closely after that.

My eyes snapped open and I bolted down the hall, dodging kids as I ran. I didn't have time to worry about being polite, or even the cameras that followed me as I sprinted down the steps and around corners. I pushed into a mass of kids gathered in the hall that led to the locker rooms.

"Move," I snapped, shoving someone to the side. They cursed at me as I stepped in front of them just as Mr. Harris was waving Allison's tablet around. Pushed against a wall of the hall was Erica, who still had her hands on Jackson's shirtless, wet arms as she seemed to barely hold him at bay. Beside Jackson stood Stiles. On the opposite wall leaned Scott, who had Allison lingering close by, and in the middle of it all was Mr. Harris. I looked back at Stiles and dashed up to him and threw him a questioning look, glancing briefly back at the scene in front of us.

He gave me a grim expression and shrugged a shoulder, smacking my arm as if to ask where I'd been. I shrugged and tried not to snap at Mr. Harris when he waved Allison's tablet in my face. " _You_ ," He exclaimed. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Nothing," I said with my hands up innocently, sneaking a peek at Scott and Allison who were standing near the door of the locker room. Scott was panting just as heavily as Jackson was, and it wasn't difficult to fill in the blanks from there. Something had gone very wrong when Allison tried questioning Jackson, and Scott must have… _intervened_.

"You're involved in this somehow." Mr. Harris abruptly decided, wagging the tablet at me.

My jaw dropped and I threw my hands out, but before I could so much as protest he'd turned to Jackson and Scott and pointed at them too. "You two—no…" He swiveled around to look at all of us. " _All_ of you. Detention. Three o'clock."

"But I didn't do anything!" I yelled.

"Yeah, and neither did I!" Said a guy I'd hardly noticed standing near us. He was the same one I met the other day in the library; the one who kept his journal from 2008 and left it on the table I'd sat at. I threw him a confused look, which he returned wholeheartedly, but before we could confront each other Mr. Harris jabbed the tablet in my face to get my attention.

" _You_ are supposed have detention anyways!" He hissed, and I sighed loudly, running a hand over my hair. "This is not a request." He turned to look at each of us in the face to drive his point him. "You're all going to show up, on time, to the library. Or else risk earning yourself a _regular_ scheduled detention, like Ms. Carmichael here."

I rolled my eyes and sighed, letting my head fall against the wall in exasperation.

He fixed all of us with a lingering glare, daring us to speak one more word out of line. When we all brooded silently at him, but didn't offer another complaint, he tucked Allison's tablet into his bag. "You can get this back when you show up today." And with that, he strode away.

"Well that can't be good," I muttered. He has the information we needed now. I looked back at Allison with an apologetic shrug, and she shook her head before turning her attention onto Scott.

"Hey," Stiles whispered, and I took a moment to squint at the guy from the library (he pretended not to notice as he pulled his own tablet out of his lame book bag that looked more like a purse slung across his shoulders) as Stiles continued to whisper to me. "Bad news…"

"Who's he?" I jerked my chin at his retreating form, crossing my arms. "I don't like him."

Stiles glanced back to see the retreating form of Mr. Purse and whirled back around with his eyes wide. He took me by the shoulders, fixing me with a serious expression. " _You_ are the answer to my prayers."

I snorted and scowled at him, shrugging his hands off. "Ew," I grinned. "What the hell?"

"Seriously!" He shook his head and sighed. "I thought I was the only one who got bad vibes from him! He's…" He squinted his eyes and watched the guy disappear as he rounded a corner. "There's something about him."

"He's hiding something," I nodded and crossed my arms. "You know he keeps journals from 2008?"

"What?" Stiles face scrunched up and he looked over at Scott almost in instinct, as if to ask him if he was hearing this, but Scott was preoccupied by a quietly whispering Allison.

I watched with a scowl as Erica pointed two fingers at her eyes and then turned them to point at me. She smirked as she backed away like she'd done something bad ass, and I clenched my teeth and focused on Stiles, trying to push her from my mind.

Stiles looked back at me and leaned in. "How do you know?"

"Because he just _left_ one lying around in the library!"

"Oh, so you picked it up and read it?" Stiles flatly asked, crossing his arms in disapproval.

"It was a _library_." I smartly said. "Of course I read it. Dude, you're missing the point!" I smacked his shoulder and gave him a dirty look. "Besides, you would've snooped, too." Stiles shrugged to allow that, and I waved him off. "The _point_ is, the only people who carry journals from _that_ long ago when they're our age are stalkers and serial killers."

"Classic case of a psychopath." Stiles nodded nonchalantly, as if we had just casually decided where to eat for lunch. "I never trusted that guy."

"Mm." I nodded, jerking my chin toward a sopping wet Scott as he and Allison finally approached us. "You broke the restraining order, didn't you?"

Scott's feet were practically dragging the ground with shame, and Allison rubbed a soothing hand on his back. "It wasn't on purpose," He said.

"That's good," I winked, sarcasm dripping from my voice. "You should stick with that."

"He didn't mean to," Allison defended, her arms crossed uncomfortably. "Jackson provoked him."

"What happened?" Stiles asked, a concerned frown on his face as he looked at his best friend. "Did you find out about his parents?"

Scott sighed and ran a hand over his hair as we all turned to walk down the hall. "Not exactly… All I know is I was in the middle of trying to finish that test, and I heard Allison's heart beating like crazy." Allison ducked her head and I looked between them. "Next thing I know, I'm in the locker room and Jackson is standing over her without any clothes on."

My eyebrows rocketed and I paused mid-step, just before we ascended the stairs to go back into the hallway, and Allison quickly shook her head. "It wasn't like that. I was _fine!_ "

"Hate to say I told you so," I muttered, earning a smack on the back of my head from Stiles. I snarled at him and he pointed a scolding finger at me.

"That doesn't _matter_ ," Scott growled. "I was _wrong_ about him. He needs to be stopped."

I tilted my head incredulously at him. "Oh—so—now you want to go running to Derek?"

"He didn't say that!" Allison cried, and shook her head and looked at her boyfriend. "No one is suggesting that, right?"

Scott grumbled to himself and Stiles put his hand up. "Hey now," He said to Scott, his voice low in warning. "Let's not be rash, here—"

"Oh, my god," I covered my eyes with my hand and shook my head. "This is a disaster."

"Wait a minute!" Allison exclaimed. " _No_ one is going to Derek!"

"I _know_ that!" Scott finally sighed, practically pulling his hair out. "I just—I'm not sure _what_ to do anymore!"

"The plan is still the same," Allison decided, leading the way up the stairs. "We have to find a way to stop him without…" She looked around the hall in paranoia before taking his hand in hers. " _You know_. It's the right thing to do," she insisted, her eyes frantically searching Scott's for any sign of hesitation. "Anyways, I should go," She turned to meet Scott's gaze. "My mom is going to be even _more_ suspicious."

"I don't know how you're going to explain this one," I bluntly pointed out, earning another glare from Stiles that I promptly ignored.

Scott sighed and Allison shook her head again. "We'll figure something out. Let me handle my mom, you guys just—lay low for the rest of the day. And stay away from Jackson!"

Stiles' head whipped around to glare at me before I could even open my mouth. I broke into a grin and put my hands up, and he narrowed his eyes and finally looked away.

Allison did the thing where she held Scott's hand for as long as possible before letting go as she stepped away, and I rolled my eyes and gagged to myself at their ' _subtle'_ display of affection as she left.

I sighed and turned to the boys with my arms crossed. "Well," I tilted my head at Scott. "I think we all learned something from this experience."

"Nope," Stiles futilely tried, shaking his head at Scott. "Don't take the bait—"

Scott tilted his head questioningly at me and I sighed smugly. "Never send a human to do a werewolf's job—"

"Oh no," Stiles rubbed at his eyes impatiently as Scott snorted, partly in surprise, partly in disgust.

He watched me for a few beats more before finally asking. "You're joking… right?"

"Yeah," I said unconvincingly. "Look, Allison's great. She's super sweet," I continued, the words sounding weird coming from my mouth as Scott threw Stiles a questioning look. "Her heart's in the right place. But we all knew Jackson was never gonna tell her what she needed to know. And now that we're finished with that exercise in futility, we should come up with a _real_ plan about what to do."

"Allison isn't some incapable little girl," Scott frowned, crossing his arms at me.

"I didn't say that," My mouth tugged down at the corners and I raised my eyebrows as I looked at Stiles. "Did I say that?"

"Ya kinda did."

"Okay, well what I _meant_ was Allison—" I shrugged my shoulders. "She tried to fight fire with rationality… and diplomacy, when what she needed was an extinguisher."

"That—didn't really clear anything up." Stiles shook his head at me and I sighed.

"You guys think the way to stop him is to—like—go back to the root of his problems. But what if that's not the answer?"

Scott shrugged at me. "What are you saying?"

"The fire has _already_ started, okay? It started a _long_ time ago, back before any of us were even around. It's too late to go back and move the candle away from the curtain."

"Stop with the flame analogy," Stiles said, gesturing to Scott's extremely confused face.

"We can't _fix_ whatever happened to his parents," I finally clarified. "You guys know what I mean—we all have our issues with our parents." Scott and Stiles blinked, looking either down at the ground or down the hallway as they reflected on their own issues. "I mean, you said Erica told you that they died, right? Do you _really_ think talking to someone who has no idea what you're going through is gonna magically take all that hurt and anger away?"

Stiles sighed and Scott shoved his hands in his pockets. "So what do we do?" Scott asked.

"I think we need to find whoever is controlling the Kanima." I said, a grim expression on my face.

"Extinguish the fire," Stiles realized, and I nodded at him.

"Great." Scott said, shrugging at me. "That sounds great. How do we do that though?"

I took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. "Investigate," I said, gesturing to Stiles. "This is your department, right? This should be right up your alley." I looked back at Scott. "We should watch him. See where he goes, who he talks to."

"We have a restraining order," Stiles frowned, crossing his arms. "What do you suggest we do about that?"

"Well I was just going to ignore it, but…" I admitted, earning identical reactions of exasperation from them.

"Of course you were," Stiles nodded. "That sounds about right."

"Look, we can discuss how to handle it later. For now, let's _try_ to get through the rest of the day so we can reconvene at someone's house and come up with a new plan."

"Yeah," Scott sighed. "I should get to class. I don't want to give Allison's mom any more reason to hate me by flunking my classes."

"Well, it's good to have your priorities straight," I dryly quipped, but my sarcasm flew straight over Scott's head as he nodded and took off down the hall for his locker. Stiles and I exchanged an amused shake of our heads as we turned away and started towards English class.

* * *

"I'm gonna kill him," Scott grunted, practically frothing at the mouth as he threw another hateful glance back at Jackson. I think he's feeling particularly agitated because Jackson was seated so close to Allison, meanwhile the three of us are being forced to sit across the library at a separate table from everyone else because _Jackson_ whined about his stupid _restraining_ order. Again.

"No you're not," Stiles whispered, glancing briefly at me as if to implore me to chime in.

But I just found the whole thing extremely amusing. I mean, _Scott McCall?_ Cool, compassionate, levelheaded Scott McCall practically jumping to rip a guy's head off? It's hilarious! I grinned mischievously and brought a thumb to my mouth, offering no help whatsoever to Stiles.

"Yes, I am," Scott growled, throwing some more shade at Jackson who was just sitting casually at his table. Actually, if anything Jackson was sitting as far away from Allison as possible, his chair pulled out from the table slightly as he slouched in the opposite direction.

" _No_ , you're not." Stiles insisted, waving his hand in Scott's face to catch his attention. "You're going to find whoever's controlling him, and you're going to stop him. _Without_ killing him."

I threw up an approving thumb and winked at them, and Scott shook his head.

"Nope, I changed my mind. You were right, let's kill him."

I snickered and Stiles sighed tiredly, sitting back in seat and muttering under his breath. Scratching my cheek, I looked over at their table again and focused on that guy from earlier.

He sat at the table with a tablet in his hand, examining something on the screen closely. He whispered something that I didn't catch and Allison's head snapped up to give him a disturbed look. I raised my eyebrows at her reaction and tilted my head, studying his body language.

He seemed to tilt his tablet away from Allison after that, almost as if protecting whatever was on his screen from her sight. Probably more _journal_ entries. I snorted bitterly to myself and Stiles looked down at me.

"What?" He whispered, and I squinted my eyes at the kid.

"Look at him," I murmured, and Stiles followed my gaze. "What do you think he's reading?"

Scott perked up and turned too see who I was talking about. "Who, Matt?"

I drew in a breath and narrowed my eyes even more. " _Matt?"_ I scoffed. "His name is _Matt?"_

The kid turned at the sound of his name and looked around with a frown on his face, trying to spot whoever said it. His eyes stilled on me and his eyebrows drew together when he caught me staring at him.

"What's wrong with his name?"

I shook my head with a sneer, "Nothing, I just hate him."

Scott snorted in surprise and couldn't help but grin in confusion. "What? Why?"

"Look at him," I murmured, as I narrowed my eyes at Matt. He frowned deeper and looked back down at his tablet, glancing up at me every now and then. "He can't be trusted," I said dramatically, only half joking.

"Wow," Scott chuckled, shaking his head. "This is where you get that reputation for hating everyone, isn't it?"

"I don't hate everyone." I rolled my eyes and looked back at Scott. "Just most people."

"Oh, good," Stiles smartly quipped with a nod. "Thanks for clearing that up."

"Careful," I slid my eyes over to him and raised my eyebrows. "You don't wanna be hated by me."

Stiles sighed and sat back with his arms crossed, his eyes now on Matt. "Well, for what it's worth, I don't trust him either."

"What? Why?" Scott asked again, though with less amusement.

"I don't know…" Stiles murmured, watching as Matt opened a bag of potato chips and popped one in his mouth. "There's something about him, you know?"

"He gets it." I jerked a thumb at Stiles from the side and Scott threw both of us weird looks.

"You guys are too paranoid."

"What if it's him?" Stiles suddenly suggested.

"Ooooh, that's good," I snapped my fingers at Stiles and nodded enthusiastically. "I like it, I say we run with it."

"Wait, slow down you guys," Scott cautioned, leaning forward to talk quieter. "What proof do you have?"

"He still keeps his diary from 2008," I nodded gravely at Scott, who just shook his head at me like I was crazy. "He keeps it _on_ him." I continued. "Like, always."

Scott frowned and lifted his chin thoughtfully, glancing back at Matt.

"That's not all!" Stiles insisted. "This whole thing comes back to the video, right?"

"Video…" I prompted, my eyes squinted questioningly.

"Oh," Stiles leaned over to me. "The video that Jackson took of himself on the night of the full moon."

"Oh yeah," I laughed, nodding my head. "Weirdo."

"Well, Danny said that Matt was the one to find two hours of footage missing from the tape."

" _Exactly!_ " Stiles quietly exclaimed. "He's trying to throw suspicion off himself."

I snapped my fingers again and pointed at Stiles, and then back at Scott. "It's a conspiracy."

Scott paused and turned to look at Matt again, and we watched as he shook the bag of potato chips and held it out to Jackson. Jackson snarled his lip up distastefully and gave Matt a dirty look, and Matt shrugged and took another chip.

"So Matt made Jackson kill Isaac's dad, one of the Argents' hunters, and the mechanic?" Scott frowned skeptically.

"Hmm," I dubiously hummed, drawing my thumb across my lip at the same time that Stiles proclaimed _yes_.

" _Why?_ " Scott asked.

"—because…" Stiles grappled, glancing back at Matt. "—he's… _evil_."

"Psychotic," I corrected, and Stiles snapped his fingers at me and nodded eagerly.

" _Psychotic_." He nodded at Scott and we turned to look at Matt again, watching as he tipped the bag of potato chips upside down over his mouth and shook it to catch every last crumb, dropping some down his shirt.

"Hmm." I blinked, drawing my lips down into an uncertain grimace and shrugging at Scott. "No?"

"No." He shook his head at us and grinned crookedly. " _You_ guys are psychotic."

"All right," Stiles muttered, crossing his arms as he sat back. "But I still don't like him."

Scott breathed out a laugh and shook his head. Suddenly, Jackson stood from his seat and grabbed his bag. "Are you okay?" Matt asked, and I narrowed my eyes at them as Jackson hurried towards the door without answering.

"Hey, you alright?" Mr. Harris asked a rare display of genuine concern. "You don't look so good…"

"I'm fine," Jackson tightly dismissed, shaking his head as he rushed to the exit. "I just gotta go to the bathroom," he hurriedly explained before leaving the library.

I raised my eyebrows as Mr. Harris came out from around the desk and pointed at all of us. "No one leaves their seats," He warned, and I snorted quietly.

Mr. Harris then _left_ the library. During _detention_. The door had barely shut behind him and Scott and Stiles were out of their seats. My eyes bulged as they quickly slid into chairs beside Erica, and as Scott spoke to her, Stiles craned his neck to catch my eye and gesture me over.

I quickly shook my head and abruptly stilled as Erica glanced over at me hatefully, my eyes flickering back to Scott and Stiles. Erica turned back to them and said something and Scott exclaimed something unhappily.

I sighed and knocked my knuckles against the desk before standing to walk past them with a quick little salute, winking at the agitated Erica as I strolled up to Allison's table and joined her and _Matt_.

I narrowed my eyes at Matt briefly, but turned my attention onto Allison and gave her a smile. "What's up, buttercup?"

She smiled cautiously back and me and I saw her gaze flit back to her boyfriend and Stiles. "Mr. Harris never gave me back my tablet."

"Oh, you—" I tilted my chin down and gave her a meaningful look. "You want it back?"

"Well—wait a minute," She hastened to say as she caught onto what I was suggesting. "I'm sure he just forgot—"

"Say no more!" I stood out of my seat and rubbed my hands together, a mischievous grin crossing my face. "That tablet is as good as yours."

"Whoa, what's she doing?" Matt asked Allison, and I snapped my head down to look at him.

"Eat your potato chips, dough boy," I growled.

" _Savannah_ ," Allison gasped, and Matt recoiled in embarrassment. _Ugh!_ What a fake.

"Matt, she's joking—" Allison threw me a scolding expression as Matt seemed to consider her words. "She didn't mean that."

I raised an eyebrow and turned back to the desk Mr. Harris had been sitting at. Lifting my boot, I started towards the desk.

"Well I still don't think we should be stealing from the teacher," Matt said, fixing me with an uncomfortable gaze.

I tilted my head and squinted my eyes at him, opening my mouth before Allison could speak. "It's not _stealing_ if it was hers in the first place." I took a step forward and leaned down slightly. " _Here's_ a tip: mind your own business, _Matt_."

He sighed and looked down at his tablet. "Whatever," He muttered.

Allison seemed tired of dealing with me as I sat back up and gave her my best _can you believe this guy_ , expression. I shook my head and glanced at the door Mr. Harris had disappeared through as I made my way up to his desk.

Stiles tried to catch my attention when I passed, but I waved him off and ignored Erica's hard glare as I passed them, turning back to wave off Scott for good measure. As I approached the desk, I peeked back at Allison and saw her fixing me with a nervous expression.

I took in a breath and frowned down at Mr. Harris's seat. On the desk in front of his chair was a stack of papers, marked up in red. Apparently he was grading last week's lab. My eyebrows raised and I paused, reaching down to leaf through the stack.

On top was Greenberg's—it'd been marked with a bright red _D minus_. I clicked my tongue and flipped through the stack, blowing past the unfamiliar names. When Lydia's came up I noticed she had a perfect score and rolled my eyes. I sighed and continued through, spotting Scott's. _C minus._ I glanced over to the door, which seemed firmly closed, and then briefly back at the boy in question. He was hunched down and speaking with Erica and Stiles, and I felt a surge of unbidden affection swell through my chest when he scrubbed his hand over his hair.

I sighed and reached down to pick up the bright red marker that still lay uncapped near the papers, quickly swiping a line down the middle of the grade and turning it to a _C plus_. I pursed my lips and tilted my head. Oh well. It'll have to do.

I flipped through some more and changed a few more grades, making some worse, and some better. If it was someone who'd recently been a dick to me, I kicked them down a letter grade. When I saw Isaac's I actually marked him _up_ a couple letter grades, turning a _D_ into a _B_. Stiles' was changed from a _C minus_ to a _B plus_ , and I glanced up and caught Allison furiously motioning me to hurry up.

I smirked and dropped the papers, trying to rearrange them in the exact position they'd been when I got here. I grimaced and hesitated with the marker, trying to recall if it'd been tilted to the left or to the right when I picked it up.

I quickly decided on one and threw a glance back at the door before reaching down to root through his bag.

Since I'd done quite a bit of damage to his graded labs already, I decided to skip sabotaging any of his other folders he had in his bag and just snatched Allison's tablet out. I held it up and wagged it triumphantly at her and she flapped her hand violently, silently willing me to get out of there.

I was going around the side of the desk when the door opened and a sweaty, completely _wrecked_ Jackson pushed through, followed quickly by Mr. Harris, and I abruptly dropped to the ground with a hissing curse.

Scrambling back, I clutched Allison's tablet to my chest and huddled, hidden by the corner of the desk when he looked over the room and strode forward.

"Well, let's see here," Mr. Harris said, and my heart was pounding in my chest. I mentally cursed myself as he paused and I peeked over the desk. His back was to me, his hands on his hips as he faced the rest of the room. I took the opportunity to swipe a book off one of the nearby carts and jammed Allison's tablet inside. "By my count, we seemed to have lost one of you."

I growled lowly and tried to figure out how to play this.

"I'd like to say I'm surprised, but given who it is I'm really not."

Still crouching on the ground, I peeked around the corner of the desk and waited until he was facing the complete opposite direction until I scrambled out from behind the desk to duck within the shelves of books.

"There's no sense in defending her," He was saying as I quickly and quietly moved along. "You're only making it worse for yourselves. So give it up. Where is she?"

In my head, I was screaming at Erica and Matt to keep their filthy mouths shut. I knew they'd be the first to rat me out, given the chance, and I peeked through the shelves to take a scan around the room.

Erica was smirking delightfully, reveling in my apparent failure, and Matt seemed to glance periodically between Allison and Mr. Harris. Otherwise, they both kept quiet, and I frowned in confusion. Weren't they going to rat me out?

"Come on." Mr. Harris said. "She left, didn't she?" No one said a word. Mr. Harris shifted in agitation. "It would be _wise_ for you to tell me now, so that you don't suffer any repercussions when she's found." They all stared at him. "Why are you doing this?"

"You know," Stiles suddenly spoke up, and I whipped my head around to glare at him. "I think I might have heard something about—"

"Ah, yes!" I came strolling out from the stacks and waved the book in my hand around. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." I paused and pointed at him. "And then _you_ came back, and it was the worst of times."

"Ms. Carmichael," Mr. Harris all but grumbled. "You're still here."

"I was just reading up on my boy Charles Dickens," I said, waving the book around. "He uses a shocking amount of parallelism. Sort of how _you_ use a shocking amount of sarcasm."

"Take a seat, Ms. Carmichael." He pointed to the seat at the table where I'd been sitting. Scott and Stiles were no longer there, but honestly I think Mr. Harris just really has it out for me and he could care less if they're sitting with Erica now. "You've had your fun."

I smirked to myself as I sat down at the table and patted the cover of the book secretively. He has no idea.

About fifteen minutes later, Mr. Harris was flipping through the labs, and Scott had been called to the office. I sighed and shifted in my seat, listening to Stiles and Erica as they quietly deduced more about Jackson's parents.

Jackson himself looked like a train wreck. He sat in his chair, hunched over, arms crossed and jaw clenched, with sweat coating every inch of his exposed skin. It was the most out of sorts I'd seen him since… since _ever_.

I turned around as Mr. Harris zipped up his bag and seemed ready to leave. Sighing in relief, I stood from my seat and stretched my cramped muscles. Everyone else took note and followed suit, gathering their things to leave.

"Oh," Mr. Harris laughed as he came out from behind the desk and stopped by some of the large carts of books. I froze because the only time Mr. Harris has ever laughed is at the expense of his students. "No, no… Yes, _I'm_ leaving. But you are all staying here until every one of these books is shelved." He patted two of the carts that were nearly overflowing with stacks and stacks of novels, a smug expression on his face.

I threw my head back and groaned, and Mr. Harris laughed some more. He wagged his finger at me with a large smile as he turned to leave, shaking his head and chuckling as he pushed out of the library and told us to enjoy the rest of our evening.

"God," I growled. "That guy is the _worst_. Seriously, what crawled up his ass and died!?"

Everyone began putting their things back on the desks and I quickly looked to Stiles.

"Whoa, whoa," I said, my hand out. "What are you doing?"

"You heard him," Stiles unhappily said, gesturing to where Mr. Harris had gone. "We've got _books_ to shelve."

"Seriously?" I whined, and turned to look at all the people who were still here. Jackson, surprisingly, didn't have much to say on the matter as he stood over a desk and gripped his bag, and Matt shook his head at me as he started towards one of the carts.

"Look, I already covered for you once today. Okay?"

I narrowed my eyes at him as he went to wheel a cart towards some shelves.

"None of us are leaving until these books are shelved." He finished.

I helplessly turned back to Stiles, my hands up as I waited for him to back me up, and then Erica spoke up.

"I'm not getting stuck in another detention with you losers." She grumbled. "I have more important things to spend my time on."

I rolled my eyes and her and sighed in defeat as Stiles and Allison also grabbed a cart to push towards the shelves. "Sorry," Allison said, and I waved her off.

 _Ugh_. I approached Stiles as he picked up a book off the shelf and began to flip through its pages. "It feels _wrong_ to be doing the right thing," I complained, and Stiles glanced up at me.

"Yeah?" He mused. "Well you should get used to it. You're with the good guys now. And that means we have a chronic addiction to doing the right thing."

"Crap," I muttered, drawing an amused smirk from him. Allison came back to retrieve more books to shelve, and I held the one in my hand out to her. "Here. It better be worth it, I almost got another week of detention over this stupid thing."

"Thank you," Allison earnestly said, fixing me with a genuine smile. "You didn't have to do that."

"Eh," I waved her off and sighed as I slapped the book shut and tilted my head at the cover. "It gave me an excuse to drive Mr. Harris a little more crazy. At this rate, I'll have him checked into Eichen House in no time." I gave her a tiny smile and she blinked at me like I was disturbed.

"That's the spirit," Stiles dryly commented, patting my back.

As we went to shelve some books and bantered, Scott finally returned from the office. When we asked him what they wanted, his face turned red and he glanced over at Allison before quickly telling us it was nothing and not to worry about it. I exchanged a strange look with Stiles and we shrugged at each other.

We gathered in our second huddle of the day, and as Stiles began to whisper about what he'd managed to find about Jackson's parents, I realized that _this_ is what a pack is meant to be. This is what Stiles meant all those times he called it a _democracy_.

It's always been difficult for me to imagine, and impossible for me to even understand, but now that I'm here and I'm participating, it's amazing to me that there was ever any other way of doing things. Derek ruled his back with an iron fist. He made sure that we were doing exactly what he wanted—even if he had no idea what he actually wanted to do.

Scott is the opposite sort of leader. If he's unsure, he isn't afraid to ask for our opinions. As we find more things, he keeps all of us informed on what's going on. He doesn't simply spin in a circle until his finger lands on something and pretend that he's making the right choice, as it sometimes felt like Derek was doing. He takes the time to ask us what we think, and he listens to what we have to say. It really feels like I'm working with a team here.

Because even though I've made my opinion perfectly clear on what I think of trying to find out more on Jackson's parents, the others seem to think its important. And whether it's the right move or a waste of time, Scott is giving it the attention that he thinks it deserves. And who knows? Maybe it'll turn out to be useful information after all.

"So was it an accident or not?" Allison whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Stiles shrugged and shook his head. "The word all over the report is _inconclusive_."

Stiles sighed and nodded and Scott leaned in. "His parents could've been _murdered?"_

"Well if they were then it falls in line with the Kanima myth." Allison frowned at him in confusion. "You know? Seeks out and kills murderers."

I took a deep breath and sighed, and Allison paused with her eyes scrunched. "But for Jackson, or for whoever's controlling him?"

I raised an eyebrow at that particularly ominous question, and Stiles nodded to me. "What do you think? You've been disturbingly quiet."

I looked away and tried not to grin. "Well… you guys know how I feel about Jackson's parents."

"So you think this whole thing is a waste of time?" Stiles concluded, as if waiting for me to refute that.

I made a face and shrugged awkwardly, and Allison frowned and shifted. "If we can find out what happened to Jackson's parents, we might be able to help him."

I glanced over at Scott and was about to become brutally honest with Allison when Scott suddenly turned to maneuver around the cart. "What are you doing?" I asked, and Scott shrugged his shoulders at me.

"We have to talk to him."

"What?" I hissed, and turned to Stiles for help.

"Wait—dude—hold on,"

"We have to tell him," Scott insisted, and I clenched my hands into fists to keep from swiping at him to physically stop him.

"What makes you think he doesn't already know?" I hissed, and he ignored me as he rounded the corner of the bookcase.

I turned back to Stiles and threw my hands up, and Stiles reached out to grab my arm before I could follow Scott and drag his ass back over here. "Let him go," He said, and I was about to argue when there was a loud crash and the lights flickered overhead.

Stiles and I locked gazes moments before books went flying off the shelves and sparks came raining down from the lights. Stiles threw me down just as hunks of plaster fell to the ground and the bookcases wobbled dangerously. An entire shelf of books fell out of the bookcase over top Stiles and I, and came sailing straight for my legs, and they crashed into my knees as Stiles tried to drag me away a beat too late. I let out a gasp of pain and Stiles and Scott hollered my name.

I pulled at Stiles' hands where they grasped my waist, gently pushing him towards Allison and crouching over both of them with my claws already out. I growled in my throat, partly because of my pain, and partly because Scott yelling my name could only mean one thing.

He called out for Erica shortly after and I pushed them back when I heard her scream out in surprise. The sharp smell of novocaine reached my nose and I whipped around to look down at Stiles and Allison in concern.

My heart pounded in my chest and adrenaline pumped through my veins as Scott suddenly came into view. He was backing away from a shifting Jackson who was half-covered in scales. His eyes glowed bright yellow and the black slits flashed dangerously as he let out a feral snarl and pushed Scott backwards as hard as he could.

Scott sailed into a cart of books and I leapt to my feet to help him up. He yelled at me to get back, and once he was on his feet again I turned to look at Jackson. He stood by a chalk board I hadn't even noticed was there, facing away from us, and before I could even take a step towards him Scott took me by the elbow and dragged me back to Stiles and Allison.

Stiles grabbed my hand and pulled me down by him and I wanted to protest, but the look in all of their eyes told me not to do anything stupid. So I grit my teeth and turned back to Jackson.

He seemed possessed as he stood in front of the chalkboard, his body turned towards the windows as he lifted his arm and began to scribble out some seriously sloppy letters.

I clenched my fists and inadvertently squeezed Stiles' hand, and he glanced at me briefly and squeezed back. I felt my heart sputter as I pretended not to notice and watched Jackson's every move—just _waiting_ for him to try something.

But he didn't. He finished spelling out _redrum_ on the chalkboard and turned to face us. I frowned and squinted to read the message through the haze of dust and flying sparks.

 _Stay out of my way_

 _or I'll kill all of you_

I sat up straight and was about to get to my feet when Jackson suddenly turned away and took a running leap for the windows, hopping on top of a bookcase that leaned against a wall before crashing through one of the windows and disappearing outside.

We waited for a few breaths to see if he was about to come back, or if anything else was going to happen—you know, like if the library would be flooded with blood or if two twins would ride out of the rubble on tricycles.

But nothing ever happened, so we slowly got to our feet and stepped out from behind the bookcases. Scott and Allison went to take a closer look at the chalkboard, but Stiles turned around and dropped my hand as he rushed forward. "Oh—hey, hey! I think she's having a seizure," He exclaimed, scrambling to crouch over Erica and turn her on her side.

I frowned as I slowly approached a shaking Erica, flailing helplessly on the ground. After seeing all of the sass she has, after experiencing the true force of her fierce attitude when she was turned, it was surprisingly unsettling to watch her seizing on the ground.

Stiles slid his hand under her back and gently lifted her off the ground when she finally grew still. I crouched down beside her and frowned at her sweat-coated skin and Stiles looked up and me and Scott, who had also come to stand next to me.

"We need to get her to the hospital," He said, and Erica grunted out a protest.

"Derek," She managed, and Stiles frowned down at her. We awkwardly paused and I raised an eyebrow as Stiles looked back at Scott. "Only to Derek."

"Uh, when we get her to the hospital—" Scott started, and Erica interrupted him again.

"Derek." She persisted, though it caused her obvious pain to do so. "To Derek," she finished with a whisper, and I rolled my eyes backed away a little.

"Go," Allison said. We turned to see her through the gaps in the bookshelf, crouching over an unconscious Matt. Scott suddenly got to his feet and quickly rushed to join her, and Stiles called out after him in exasperation.

I reached out to take Stiles' shoulder and shook my head at him. He stopped mid-sentence and sighed before relenting, and Allison continued to encourage Scott to leave.

"No, you need to go," She said, though she didn't exactly sound happy about it. In fact, she sounded a bit hysterical, and Scott shook his head stubbornly. "He can't carry her on his own and she needs help. And I have to call an ambulance for Matt."

I took in a breath and before anyone could suggest otherwise, I stood and ignored Stiles as he called out for me. "No, you guys should take her to Derek. I'll stay with Allison and help Matt."

Scott turned to look back and me and then grabbed Allison's arm in concern. "Are you sure?" He whispered as I stepped through the rubble to join Allison's side.

She nodded at him and told him to go.

"I-It doesn't feel right," Scott said. "It doesn't feel right to leave you here, are you sure?"

"I've got her, Scott," I waved him off and nodded at him. "She's going to be okay. Go."

He nodded at me with a thankful expression in his eyes, and I waved him off before he could say anything mushy.

Scott kissed Allison's forehead and I glanced away to see Stiles watching me with a troubled gaze. I nodded and him and he pursed his lips and looked down, nodding briefly back at me.

I sighed and turned my attention down to Matt as Scott stood and went to help Stiles, picking up Erica off the ground and leading the way out of the library.

After they left, Allison and I took a moment to breathe and checked Matt for any obvious signs of injury. We found a bloody spot on his head, and I looked at Allison and told her to go call the ambulance.

* * *

 ** _Thank you for all the support and reviews last chapter! :) It really encourages me to hurry up and write more._**

 _ **Let me know what you think in the review box below!**_


	36. Asshole Jar

Stiles and I sat at his kitchen table that night, a box of pizza opened nearby and the board game _Trouble_ neatly situated between us. Although I pegged Stiles to be a pretty messy guy, the more of the house I see, the more I realize just how wrong I was. In some aspects he can be pretty sloppy—especially if he's trying to study or if he's playing video games.

But for some reason when comes it to competing with me, Stiles is meticulous. To be fair, _Trouble_ had seen better days. It was old and it had been well used, and even the part that was supposed to house the die had been broken. It doesn't really matter because we can just use the die like normal, but it does take some part of the fun out of it.

"You're just jealous because I've got better looking pawns than you do." I shook the die in my hand and tilted my head at him.

"What?" He shook his head at me and scoffed. "They're the exact same pawn as the ones that I have! Except yours are red."

"Exactly." I raised an eyebrow at him and made a show of blowing the die in my hands. "And that makes all the difference."

"All right, just roll already." Stiles sat back and took a bite of his pizza. "Stop stalling. I want to go so I can roll another six."

I hummed as if I was humming some sort of ritual, causing Stiles to focus on me with a wary expression as I shook the die in my hands above my head.

"What are you doing?"

"Shhhh," I said, lifting my head up and closing my eyes. I paused for a moment and then continued humming.

"Savannah—"

"Heyeyeyey," I chanted, swaying from side to side and muttering gibberish that sounded like Native American words. Stiles shook his head and waved me off.

"You're not saying anything," He leaned forward and tried to snap his fingers in my face to make me stop, but I simply dodged him and shook the die in his face as I continued to chant. "Those aren't words, Savannah! You're not intimidating me! It's not gonna work—"

I threw the die out and rolled a three. Stiles waved his hand knowingly and nodded his head.

"There, see—"

"Yes!" I cried, jumping out of my seat with my hands in the air. "Yes, yes, _yes!_ In your _face!"_

"You rolled a three!" He pointed down at the dice and shook his head at me.

"Yes I did," I bragged, brushing my shoulders off. He scoffed and shook his head again as I made a huge show of picking up my pawn. Slowly, realization crept onto Stiles' face. He sat back in horror as I moved my pawn three spaces forward and knocked his off its place, plopping mine down with a triumphant thud.

" _What!?_ " He yelled, leaping out of his chair and throwing his finger down at the board. "You can't do that!"

The front door opened and Sheriff Stilinski walked in, calling out a greeting that was cut off by my exclamation. "Yes I can!"

" _No!_ That's not how the game works!"

"Yes it is!"

"No it isn't! You can't just _knock_ my pawn back to the freakin' start!"

"Yes I can! I rolled a three!"

"Hey, kids," Sheriff cautiously greeted, coming to lean against the entrance of the kitchen and look over what we were doing. "What's goin' on?"

"Savannah is cheating," Stiles accused, pointing his finger at me.

I gasped and lifted out of my chair to tuck my feet under me as I shook my head. "No I am _not_ … Not this time."

"So you _did_ cheat at Monopoly!"

"Don't be a sore loser, Stiles." I tilted my head down and crookedly pursed my lips. "It's not cute."

"Hey, you know what else isn't cute?" He leaned forward to yell in my face. "Cheating! Cheating is not cute! It is the _opposite_ of cute!"

As he continued to yell, he rose out of his seat with me, and soon the whole thing just devolved to us screaming in each other's face.

"Hey—hey hey!" Sheriff admonished, pulling us apart. "Both of you, calm down!"

I narrowed an eye at Stiles and reached out to give him a childish push, which he tried to bat away. Sheriff grabbed my hand and pushed it back towards me with a scolding expression, shaking his head as he held his hands out to separate both of us.

"Now." He said. "Can one of you—calmly, _rationally_ tell me what's going on?"

Stiles and I both started to speak at the same time, me accusing him of trying to change the rules and Stiles accusing me of cheating.

"Savannah." Sheriff said, pointing at me. "What happened here?"

Stiles started to protest at Sheriff's choice of person to ask, but I rushed to speak over him. "My pawn was on _that_ square, and then I rolled a three, and I knocked Stiles' pawn back to the start because his pawn was where mine was supposed to go."

" _That's_ not a rule—"

"It is a rule." Sheriff nodded, stepping away to go grab some pizza.

Stiles tried to argue some more and I reached out to grab his face, shaking my head and speaking over him as I persistently told him that Sheriff had just agreed with me. Stiles tried to say that we were both ganging up on him, and I shook my head and patted his cheek.

"You gotta move your pawn back to the start," I said over his rambling, and he tried to shake his head through my grip, pointing down at the board and calling me us both cheaters. I laughed and patted his cheek again before letting go and turning to face the Sheriff. "Okay, okay," I said, putting my hands up to quiet Stiles. "Let's start a new round, but this time, Sheriff Stilinski is gonna be the _green_ pawns—"

"Ah, I don't know," He said, shaking his head and trying to back away towards the living room.

"No, that's a great idea!" Stiles exclaimed. "You can referee and help me crush Savannah into dust."

"Or you can help me teach Stiles how to win at something for once in his life—"

"Hey," they chorused, shaking their heads at me.

"Nope." Sheriff pointed at me. "If I play this with you two, this is what's going to happen."

Immediately, Stiles and I rushed to agree to his terms.

"I haven't even said what it is yet," Sheriff said, his hands out in question.

"Yes, we'll do it, sit down and grab the green pawns." I demanded, pointing at the chair on the other side of the table. Stiles and I had been sitting across from each other, so that left Sheriff to sit between us.

He put his plate down and rubbed his hands together. "Okay. My conditions are this: First, we're gonna set up a jar."

Stiles and I exchanged confused looks.

"It's kind of like a swear jar," Sheriff said, "But instead of swearing, it's every time one of us says something unreasonably rude."

"You're gonna make me an asshole jar." I clarified unhappily, and Stiles let out a loud snort.

"It's about time somebody house trained you."

"Hey!" I pointed at Stiles and looked to Sheriff. "That should go in the jar!"

"Yep," Sheriff crossed back into the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets. He pulled out a tin that was full of pink packets—artificial sweetener—and paused briefly before looking up at Stiles with an inexplicably sad expression. I kept very still as I glanced between the two of them, trying to figure out what the big deal was about the sweeteners.

"Dude, you can find another jar for them." I suggested. I paused and thoughtfully tilted my head. "Better yet, keep them in there, we don't need an asshole jar."

Sheriff abruptly dumped the packets out and let out a loud sigh as he swept them into the trash. Stiles echoed his sigh and I frowned in confusion at the pair of them as Sheriff went over to the counter and plopped the newly emptied tin down, patting it with his hand. "C'mon Stiles. First donation."

Stiles grumbled and threw me a pointed look. " _This_ is to set an example for you," He muttered, rummaging through his wallet until he found some change. He threw a quarter in and waved his hand out to his dad. "Happy?"

"Yes." He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. "You guys ready to get your asses kicked?"

"Well, hang on a minute," I put my hand out to him. "That's an old Christmas tin." They stared blankly at me. "Why are we using _that?_ "

"It's the asshole jar," Stiles said, looking at me like I had just asked the stupidest question in the world.

"It's a Christmas cookie tin." I said.

"It's an asshole jar," Sheriff said, lowering his voice at me.

I put my hands up and shook my head. "Fine. It's the asshole jar." Sheriff nodded approvingly and came to join us at the table, and I paused before we cleared the board. "Just so we all know, the name of that jar is _really_ suggestive. Right?"

"Yeah," Stiles shrugged. "It's the asshole jar."

"Kay," I tiredly relented. "Clear the board."

* * *

"He's _gonna_ notice," I said the following afternoon, raising my eyebrows knowingly at Stiles.

He turned around to glare at me, a brown, generic fast food bag in his hand. "Do you have to be so negative, all the time?"

"I'm just trying to keep things real." Raising my white bag of Wendy's, I shook it at him almost gloatingly. "If the taste doesn't tip him off, the two separate bags will."

"I'll just tell him that you're a picky eater." Stiles looked me over with a smirk as he passed by, shrugging his shoulders. "Which is kind of true."

My jaw dropped and I scowled incredulously, taking a moment to let that sink in before finally moving to chase after him. " _How_ is that true? I like what I like!"

"You ordered a Son of a Baconator because you said the original Baconator _tries too hard_ , and you only like Hawaiian pizza, _and_ you said my popcorn is burnt—which it's not."

He pulled the door of his jeep open and I quickly scrambled to open the passenger door so I could continue yelling at him.

"First of all, your popcorn _is_ burnt." I gave him a dry look and he shook his head stubbornly as he turned the jeep on and put it into gear to pull away. "Second of all, if you've ever had those burgers before you'll know what I'm talking about."

I reached down to switch the radio on, flipping around until I found the right station.

"And your favorite pizza is Hawaiian, too," I added with a judgmental frown, giving him a taste of his own medicine as I looked him over. "So everything you just said is invalid."

"Well Julio said his vegetarian burgers are so good that most customers think they're just ordering a regular burger with lettuce on top."

I stared at him with a disbelieving expression on my face until he noticed. When he finally did, he did a double-take and struggled to bite back a laugh, a grudging grin playing at his lips. "What?" He said.

"Is Julio brain damaged?" I asked, blinking rapidly at him. "Did he suffer from a stroke? Is there some medical reason that I shouldn't be calling him absolutely retarded?"

Stiles winced and shrugged a shoulder sarcastically. "I think there's… probably an ethical reason you shouldn't be calling him that, but… you know what? Asshole jar."

I paused and ran what I just said over in my head again. Eventually, I shrugged my shoulders and nodded, "Point taken. No, _you_ know what? You're right. Julio the _fry-cook_ is probably the leading authority on vegetarian palettes." I shook my head and Stiles nodded confidently.

"Yeah, well, we'll see who's right soon enough."

"Okay." I shifted in my seat so I looked Stiles head on. "I bet you ten dollars that your dad notices it's a veggie burger after the first bite."

Stiles snorted, "Deal."

I held my hand out and he glanced over to give it a firm shake as he was driving. "You're going _down_ , Stilinski."

"Dream on, Carmichael." He nodded his head over to the glove compartment and asked if I could open it.

"Uh, sure?" I frowned at him questioningly but went ahead and opened it anyways. Inside were the car's manual, a flashlight, some five-hour energy and a walkie-talkie that looked like it belonged to the police department. I turned to give him a pointed look and shook my head. "I don't understand what I'm supposed to be looking at."

He glanced over. "Oh, no, it's beneath all that. Grab that bag."

I frowned but moved the flashlight and energy drink back, and sure enough, underneath them lay a slightly crumpled McDonald's bag. A wide grin broke across my face as I pulled the bag out and looked it over, and I gave Stiles an incredulous look.

"Seriously? You really think _this_ is going to trick your dad?"

"Just—switch the bags and shut up," Stiles rolled his eyes as we came to a stop at a red light.

I mockingly grimaced and wobbled my head at him as I quickly switched all the things out. He can disguise this stuff all he wants, I'm still getting that ten bucks. I sighed and tilted my head thoughtfully. "You know, the good part about this is that he's gonna be so distracted by the veggie burger that he'll forget to keep us away from all the evidence."

Stiles stayed suspiciously quiet, a smug grin pulling at his lips as he tried not to glance at me and hummed noncommittally.

I narrowed my eyes at him and paused, slowly smirking. "…You already thought of that, didn't you?"

Stiles shrugged and pretended not to be smiling as he 'focused' on driving. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just trying to get my dad to eat healthier."

"Oh, my god," I laughed, throwing my head back. "You're an evil genius!"

He stubbornly shook his head as we pulled into the police station and continued to bite back his amusement. "No, Savannah. You've got it all wrong. I'm just trying to enjoy a nice lunch with my dad!"

"Oh, so this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he accidentally mentioned some _new evidence_ that was going be _keeping him busy_ at work last night?"

"Frankly, I'm offended that you would think so little of me." Stiles touched a hand to his chest and fixed me with a superficial affronted pout. "I thought we had made progress, Savannah."

I snorted dryly and rolled my eyes at him, gathering the bags into my arms as I turned to open the door to the jeep. "Alright, but when he notices, I still want that ten bucks."

"Yeah, we'll see," Stiles' face finally betrayed him as he smirked widely and quickly jumped out of the vehicle.

"Hey!" I called, hurrying onto the pavement as I swung the door shut behind me to chase after him. "I saw that smirk!"

"What?" Stiles impishly frowned at me. "I'm just saying he won't notice."

"No, you're just _hoping_ he _will_ so your plan will work."

"That doesn't make sense." Stiles held the door open for me as we entered the station. "My goal is for him _not_ to notice the veggie burger."

"No, your goal is—"

"Uh oh," An officer barked from behind the desk. It was the same one from the full moon all those nights ago, the same lady Derek had flirted with. "You brought the Sheriff a _veggie_ burger for lunch?"

"Shhhh!" Stiles admonished, and the same time I firmly said _yes._ He quickly looked all around the station and settled a bit when he didn't see his dad. "This is from _McDonalds_ ," He snatched the bag out of my hand and threw me a pointedly disapproving look, which I returned with a fake smile. "I don't think they'd know a vegetable if it crawled on their burgers and died."

I burst out laughing and raised my eyebrows at him. "Do you even _hear_ yourself when you talk?"

The officer suddenly straightened up. Her face changed upon recognizing me. It blanked at first and then she quickly made some excuse about needing to go fix some files before rushing away. I looked questioningly at Stiles and he shook his head and silently ushered me along.

As we went through the station, there were definitely some mixed reactions. Some officers were too engrossed in their work to even notice us. Others would pause as we went by to watch us with judgmental stares, focusing their gaze on _me_ in particular.

I cracked a knuckle and felt my temper spike as one officer watched me the whole way across the room and whispered at someone else—and I almost said something to him when Stiles grabbed the door to Sheriff's office and gently pushed me inside.

Grumbling under my breath, I trudged into the Sheriff's office with a pout on my face as Stiles pulled the door shut behind me.

"Hey, kids," Sheriff chirped in surprise. "What brings you to the station?"

"Lunch." Stiles proudly held up the _McDonalds_ bag and promptly ignored my quiet skepticism.

Sheriff sat back in his chair and laced his fingers together. "Oh, you didn't have to do that," He said, pleasantly surprised. "I'm pretty busy here today."

"Yeah, but you've got time to _eat_ , right?" Stiles tilted his head at his dad and the Sheriff stared at him for a few seconds.

It was obvious that Sheriff did in fact feel he was too busy to stop for lunch, but his son was giving him some major puppy eyes right now. I bit my lip to keep from saying anything to ruin the moment as his reluctantly sighed.

"Yeah, course I do." He held his hand out for the bag and I quickly gave the bag to Stiles so he could pass it over. "McDonalds," He observed. "Good choice."

I slyly peeked at Stiles from the corner of my eye as I drew out my own food and peeled the greasy paper back from my burger. Sheriff didn't even peek at my lunch as he got all his food out and sighed heavily, making idle chit-chat with Stiles as he prepared his lunch. I quietly settled into the seat next to Stiles.

I held my breath and tried not to be too obvious about watching him as he brought the burger up to his mouth and took a bite. He froze, mid-bite, and his face slowly scrunched up. I let out a triumphant cry as the Sheriff drew back from the burger and chewed it unhappily, an expression of complete disgust on his face as he looked between me and Stiles.

"Oh, what the hell is this?" He grumbled around a mouthful of veggie burger.

"That's what _sweet_ , sweet victory tastes like," I snickered, holding an expectant hand out to Stiles.

He sighed and muttered under his breath as he lifted off his chair to pull his wallet out from his back pocket.

"Tastes like someone grilled a Portobello mushroom, slapped some cheese on it, and stuck it between two buns," Sheriff smacked his lips distastefully as he quickly pulled his drink to his mouth to take a long draw of water.

"It's a _veggie_ burger," Stiles unhappily conceded, holding the ten-dollar bill between his fingers.

I smugly plucked the money out of his grasp, "Thank you," I winked, and made a show of bringing it to my nose to obnoxiously breath the smell in.

"Julio owes me ten bucks," Stiles grumbled.

I triumphantly cackled and took a large bite out of my burger as Sheriff continued to complain about his food. He'd pushed the burger aside and tried to find solace in a nice helping of greasy French-fries, only to discover a fresh variety of celery and carrots in his box. "Oh, come on!" He growled.

"It's healthier," Stiles insisted as he pulled his own salad out of the bag. "We're eating _healthy_ , see?"

Sheriff pointed directly at my burger and stared at Stiles. "What is that?"

"That's a heart-attack on a bun," Stiles smoothly said, and I snorted and shook my head as I took another bite.

"Salads and vegetable substitutes are a waste of my time," I smugly informed them, holding up my bacon-covered hamburger with my eyebrows raised. " _This_ is not gonna be what kills me."

"Right." Sheriff dryly said. "Because you have such a _glowing_ history of healthy choices."

I pursed my lips and tilted my head. "Touché, Sheriff. Touché."

And with that I took a large bite of my burger and smirked at him when he scowled jealously at me.

"Would you just _eat_ it, please?" Stiles finally said, unaffected by the Sheriff's glare. "And tell me what you found."

I perked up and the Sheriff scrunched his face. "No! I'm not sharing confidential police information with a couple of _teenagers_."

"Is that it on the board behind you?" Stiles asked, pointing at the wide array of evidence that was displayed across his wall behind his desk. It had pictures, and maps and diagrams of blood patterns.

I tilted my head as the Sheriff bristled uncomfortably and tried to sit taller in his seat to block our sight. "No." He moved his head to try and block Stiles' view. "Nope. Look away," He said, moving wherever Stiles did as he tried to peer over him. "L—Look away—" He pointed at me. "Avert your eyes!"

"I see arrows pointing at pictures…" Stiles observed, pointing along the board.

"And that's a toxicology report." I said, pointing up at a document that was pinned next to one of the blood diagrams. Stiles hummed thoughtfully as I pointed at another thing. "There's a coroner's report."

"That's the mechanic," Stiles said. "There's the couple who were murdered."

"There's Isaac's dad, and up there is the scene of the club we were at."

"Okay, okay, stop!" Sheriff pled. He sighed heavily and looked between us. " _Fine_."

Stiles and I raised our eyebrows at each other and tried not to react too enthusiastically as the Sheriff sighed at both of us.

"I… found a link between the couple and the mechanic that were murdered."

"A connection between all three?" Stiles asked, sitting forward.

"Yeah. And you know what I always say."

Stiles nodded and I looked between them cluelessly. "What?"

Sheriff began to tick things off on his fingers as he said them. "One's an incident, two's a coincidence, and three's a pattern."

I set my burger down and nodded thoughtfully. "That's good," I said, wagging a finger at him.

"Yeah, and the mechanic, the husband, and the wife were all the same age. They were all twenty-four."

"Wait, what about Mr. Lahey?" Stiles frowned, and I snapped my finger and pointed at him. He glanced briefly at me as he continued with a shake of his head. "Isaac's dad was no where near twenty-four."

"Which made me think that, A: Lahey's murder wasn't connected," Sheriff said, ticking things off on his fingers again. "Or, B: The ages were a coincidence, until I found _this_ ," he handed an old, heavy red folder over the desk to Stiles, careful not to knock any drinks over.

Stiles scooted his chair closer so we could both look over the contents. It was some sort of official military form with bold red letters spelling out _died in combat_ stamped across the front. When I saw those words, I realized just how into detail the Sheriff was going, and I have to admit that I was a bit taken aback at how much he was so casually sharing with me.

I looked cautiously up at him as he continued. He didn't even seem to be concerned with it as he looked at me. "Did you know that Isaac had an older brother named Camden?"

I raised an eyebrow and quietly shook my head, looking over at Stiles when he looked to me and also admitted that he didn't know about Isaac's brother.

"Let me guess." I said with a heavy sigh. "Camden was almost eight years older than Isaac."

Sheriff nodded at me with a grim line stretched across his mouth, and Stiles let out a slow sigh as he realized what that meant. "So he'd be twenty-four."

"So they're all the same age, except Isaac's dad, who had a son that was the same age."

Sheriff nodded and turned to the board. "That's right."

"What does that mean?" I shrugged, and Stiles got up to get a closer look at the board. His dad joined him and I sat in my chair, taking another bite out of my burger as they quietly studied the board.

After a few moments, Stiles finally spoke up. "Well if they're all the same age that means they were in the same class. Did you ever think of that?" He turned to his dad, who shrugged.

"Yeah," He defensively muttered. "Well I mean I _would've_ —listen, I just got Lahey's file, like, two hours ago!"

I smirked and Stiles turned to his dad incredulously. " _Two_ hours ago— _what_ —Dad, people could be dying!"

"Yeah, I _know_ that!" Sheriff yelled, and I raised my hands in a calming gesture from my spot behind the desk.

"Hey, hey, hey, now."

They turned to glare at me and I shook my head.

"Yelling at each other isn't gonna solve the case any faster." Sheriff's shoulders slumped in remorse at the same time Stiles' did, and not for the first time, I was struck by how similar they were. "Listen, if they were all in the same class and they went to Beacon Hills, then they probably knew each other. Right?"

Sheriff nodded and Stiles came out from behind the desk to grab his water.

"Well then… don't you have like, transcripts somewhere in their files?"

"Maybe," Sheriff thoughtfully wagged a finger at me as he came out from behind the desk and moved to the door. "If not I could have them faxed over in no time."

"Things are so much easier when you're working _with_ the law," I smartly said to Stiles, who snorted and nodded his head.

He sat down and grabbed his salad with a sigh. We ate in companionable silence for the next five minutes, which may be the longest amount of time I've ever been around Stiles without at least saying something to annoy him.

It was nice. Comfortable. I hadn't been this comfortable with someone in… a very long time. Wordlessly, I held my fries out to him and he hesitated only briefly before grabbing a bunch and stuffing them in his mouth. I was almost sorry to hear the Sheriff come back into the room, with his arms full of files and books. I frowned and tried to get a better look at what he had gathered, but there was no need because he laid them all out on the desk for us to see, shoving the veggie burger aside.

He laid out transcripts, student files, and yearbooks. Stiles and I looked at each other and I cleared my throat and brushed myself off. "Right." I said. "Let's get to it."

* * *

 _ **This chapter is basically just character development, building relationships, etc. etc.**_

 ** _Please leave a review before you go! :)_**


	37. No Hablo Español

_**Yeah, I added an introduction to the story. It's pretty short, but it's worth a quick read if you have the time. Also, it seems that my editing isn't quite finished. I'll let you know if whatever I continue to tweak is going to effect what happens in a chapter. Thank you for all the favorites/follows, and I'd like to give a quick shout out to the Guest who reviewed! You were the first person to review in like, the last two chapters I posted, so THANK YOU!**_

* * *

"I don't know why you won't just help me with him," Scott whined the next morning. He was turned around in the front seat of Stiles' jeep to speak directly to me, where I was sprawled out lazily across the back seat.

" _Because_ ," I sighed. "Derek and I do _not_ get along."

"But _why?_ " Scott frowned, shaking his head at me. "I don't get it. He's the one who changed you. It took you so long to join my pack, and now that I'm finally on board with letting Derek help us, suddenly you want nothing to do with him?"

"Yeah." I bluntly stated, almost as if to challenge Scott to question me again. "That's right. I don't. Want. To help him."

Scott groaned and pushed his hands into his face, turning to Stiles for help. "Can you please tell her that she needs to help us tonight?"

Stiles scoffed loudly and threw Scott an incredulous look. "You think _I_ can tell her what to do?"

I reached out to pat the top of his head. "Good boy," I lightly said, and he grunted something obscene under his breath. "Asshole jar."

"You didn't even hear what I said!"

"What's an asshole jar?"

I popped up to look at Scott and Stiles sighed and shook his head. "Never mind that. Look, she's going to be there tonight, _right?"_ He pulled the jeep into a parking spot at school and turned around to look at me.

"Yeah, definitely," I tilted my head and smirked at them. "A rave? Please. I wouldn't miss that for the world."

"See?" Stiles shrugged at Scott. "She's just not going to volunteer to deal with Derek."

"God, you get me." I shook my head in approval at him, and he squinted a cautious smirk at me.

"You're the only one Derek ever listens to." Scott pled, and I sighed muttered that that was _not true_ , and let my head fall onto my shoulder, peeking at him reluctantly. "This is serious, Savannah. And I need your help. You don't have to join his pack again, okay? Is _that_ what you're afraid of?"

"I still can't believe _you_ agreed to work with him, but look, I'll split off on my own before I'll let _that_ happen." I crossed my arms and paused as Scott threw his head back in exasperation and Stiles pursed his lips and looked down. "But… let's get one thing straight."

Scott slowly straightened and looked at me, cautiously hopeful.

"I'm in _your_ pack," I held my finger up to stop him from saying anything as he sat up in excitement. "I won't listen to him! Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, totally! Just help me with him, okay? I feel like I'm not getting anywhere with him. And he's bringing in Isaac, so I feel like you just belong there, you know?"

"All right, calm down," I dryly said, holding my hand out to him as I shook my head. "Geez, you're so excitable."

We got out of the jeep and I followed Stiles onto the sidewalk as Scott pulled his backpack onto his shoulders. "So someone _has_ to be selling tickets to this rave, right?"

"It's a secret show, there's only one way to get in." Stiles shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "And it's a _secret_."

"Yeah, I'm sure I could find someone," I nodded, scratching my nose as I glanced between the two boys as we started towards the school. "I've still got _some_ connections." _I hope._

"So maybe it's not gonna be that hard after all," Stiles hopefully suggested, and I kept my skepticism to myself as Scott nodded enthusiastically.

"Hey!" Called a voice behind us. I turned to see _Matt_ stepping away from the bike rack, wearing a black leather jacket and sporting a black backpack. I squinted at him. Had he been wearing that the other day? Are those new clothes? I could've _sworn_ he'd been using some sort of bag that went over his shoulder. I narrowed my eyes at him as he jogged up to us, all _cool_ and _casual_. "Do you guys know why no one got suspended after what happened at detention the other day?"

I scoffed and crossed my arms, drawing his gaze. "You mean me."

"Like, anyone?"

" _Yeah_ , but _specifically_ you're talking about me."

Matt scoffed and shifted. "Well, you did steal that—"

"Hey, just forget about it," Stiles snapped. I raised an eyebrow at him as he frowned at Matt. "No one got hurt, right?"

Matt scoffed and looked between Scott and Stiles in disbelief. "I-I got a concussion."

"Well nobody got seriously hurt."

"I was in the emergency room for _six hours_ ," Matt scowled, shaking his head at Stiles and fixing him with an incredulous expression.

"Do you wanna know the _truth_ , Matt? Your little bump on the head is about _this high_ ," Stiles exclaimed, bending over to hold his hand no more than two inches from the ground. "On our list of _problems_ right now!"

I pursed my lips and scrunched my eyebrows at Stiles as he straightened and Scott stepped forward to reassure Matt in a much more _civil_ manner. I grabbed Stiles' hand with wide eyes to tug him away from Matt, a slight frown on my face as I led him down the sidewalk.

"God, I hate that guy!" He furiously whispered, and I pulled him to a stop when we had gotten a reasonable distance away.

"You good?" I asked, jamming my hands into my pockets.

"What?" He said, like he'd not done anything wrong. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Well, you kinda jumped down Matt's throat, and he _did_ need an ambulance."

"Are you seriously lecturing me on being a dick?" Stiles frowned, tilting his head at me.

"Well hey, look, I personally thought it was pretty fucking funny and I thought he had it coming, but that's not—" I paused and glanced away briefly. "Just because _I'm_ a dick doesn't give you permission to follow my lead… And… I'm only telling you this because I care about you." I shrugged a shoulder. "Being a dick isn't as fun as it looks."

He sighed and reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, okay. I see where you're coming from."

"Good," I nodded, and blinked a couple times. "But seriously, that was so cool and you're my hero."

Stiles snorted out a laugh as Scott finally caught up to us.

He sighed and patted Stiles' shoulder. "Let's get to practice, we're already running late."

They waved bye to me and I held my finger out to them. "Hey, maybe I should join lacrosse."

"What?" Scott laughed and stopped in his tracks to frown at me. "Why would you do that?"

"Well it's where all the action is happening, right?" I winked at them and did a quick little foot jaunt. "I'm fast!"

"You?" Stiles laughed, pointing at me with his eyebrows raised. I shrugged and Stiles nodded patronizingly and grabbed Scott's shoulder. "Yeah, maybe next year," He snorted, and they walked away laughing.

I frowned and tilted my head back, watching them go thoughtfully. I stood there for another few seconds before turning to go into school and bring a thumb up to my mouth. "Lacrosse…" I murmured. "Carmichael, first string… Hmm."

* * *

It was the middle of my Spanish class, and I was doodling on my quiz when the announcements cackled out my name. My head snapped up and I looked at Ms. Juniper like a deer in the headlights. Most of the time, when I'm called to the office, the principal calls over the phone. They don't _announce_ it over speaker in the middle of class.

"¡Vamos!" Ms. Juniper commanded, making a grabbing motion for my paper. "You can finish the quiz later."

I blew out a sigh and my hair lifted off my face. Finish the quiz later? Not likely. I left it on my desk and gave her a quick little salute, promptly trudging into the hall with dread.

When I got to the office, I frowned at a tall woman with short red hair seated at the front desk. She had been studying a bunch of camera monitors, but when she saw me enter she quickly swiveled away and tilted her head at me.

"Hello," She kindly greeted, her voice a lot more strong than I'd imagined. I raised an eyebrow at her and she smiled at me. "You must be Savannah Carmichael."

I glanced around the office, which was otherwise empty, and then back to her. "I was called here in the middle of my Spanish test."

"Ah," she tilted her head back and sat back in her chair with her legs crossed. "How do you think you did?"

My eyebrows drew together. "Bueno," I said dryly.

"Well you can speak it well enough," She observed, studying me for a moment before suddenly taking a breath and reaching down to pick up a folder I hadn't noticed. It was blue, and well packed, and at the top tab my name was sprawled across it. I scowled and she flipped it open, leafing through the contents. "But according to this you're failing." Her eyes flickered up to me. "Now why is that?"

"Should you be looking at that?" I asked, leaning back to try and get a better look around the room. "Isn't there someone else I should be talking to?"

"No, you're talking to me," She said, slapping my folder down with a smaller stack of papers in her hands. She smacked each piece of paper into a neat line, reading them off as she went. "English, Chemistry, Geography, Art History, and Geometry." She fixed me with a stare that was a lot less friendly than before. "Not to mention, Spanish. What do these classes have in common?"

"Oh, good, a riddle," I rolled my eyes and stepped back. "I'm pretty good at these—"

"My, you're an awfully _quick-witted_ girl for someone who's flunking all of her classes." She laced her fingers together and leaned forward. I clenched my jaw as she tilted her head at me. "Now what's surprising to _me_ is that you haven't been dismissed yet. It seems that you've attended just enough of each class to skirt the line… but I'm concerned for you, Savannah."

I don't have to deal with this. She isn't the principal, _or_ my guidance counselor. My eye twitched and I started towards the door.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," She snapped. I turned slowly back to her, careful to keep my face blank as she leaned back in her seat. "You keep interesting company, Savannah." I bristled and was about to finally snap back at her, but what she said next caught me off guard and made me clamp my mouth shut. "But my daughter seems to think you're worthy of her time, so I'm going to give you one more chance."

I scoffed and crossed my arms, looking her over. I drew in a deep breath to disguise my sniffing, but nonetheless, I caught trace scents of cherries and perfume. Allison. "Of course," I smiled, slowly reapproaching the counter. "You must be Allison's mom that I've heard _so_ much about." I paused and smirked sarcastically at her. "All true things, I promise."

She snorted and uncrossed her legs. "Yes, I'm sure they were. I'm going to propose that you find yourself a tutor—and fast."

"Now why would I go and do that?" I asked, keeping my voice politely curious.

"Because if you're kicked out of school, then you'll be just another street rat. And my family won't hesitate to make the streets of Beacon Hills a little _cleaner_."

My mind flashed back to Chris, confronting me about Derek all those weeks ago. She knew exactly who I was. Exactly _what_ I was.

"Wow, you guys sure do run a tight ship," I finally said, patting my hand on the counter. "Message received. I'll find a tutor."

"That's a wise choice," She said, throwing me a sickly sweet smile. "Have a nice day."

I grunted at her and quickly strode to the door.

* * *

That night, I sat in the Stilinski's living room as Stiles rushed around the house doing god knows what before we left for the rave tonight.

"I just don't understand why _I_ have to be the one to spread the ash," He reiterated for the fifth time that night. "Why can't you do it?"

"Well because I don't _believe_ ," I smartly quipped, and Stiles threw a sock at my head. "What—are you doing laundry right now?" I picked the sock up between my fingers and quickly flicked it onto the coffee table. "That'd better be _clean!_ "

"You could _help_ , you know." Something clattered to the ground, and Stiles let out a quick curse as he tried to fix whatever he'd knocked over, but I think he only made it worse because I heard something spilling and more violent curses come from the kitchen. "This whole thing would go a lot faster! And then we could finally be on our way."

I got up from the couch to stroll into the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe, watching as he swept up a small mess of rice. How he spilled it, I'll never know. He wasn't even cooking.

"I had an interesting conversation with someone this afternoon," I started, putting my hands in the pockets of my shorts.

"That's fascinating, Savannah, will you grab me a paper towel?"

I smirked and went to grab the paper towel roll from the counter.

"Actually—just grab me the whole—"

I passed the roll into his hands and he paused, glancing at me over his shoulder. "Oh, thanks." And then he continued cleaning.

"Anyways, I was called to the office today, and I met Allison's mom."

"Oh!" Stiles barked out a sarcastic laugh as he hopped from the floor over to the pantry. "Yeah, she's a real treat isn't she?" His voice was muffled because there was a wall between us, but just as soon as he had disappeared he was flying back through the kitchen. "What'd she want?"

"Apparently I have to find a tutor." I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Or else she and the Argents are going to kick me back onto the streets and then they'll chase me down and murder me—it's this whole thing—and anyways, I was gonna ask—" Stiles popped back into the room with an extremely confused look on his face.

"Scary lady said what?" He panicked, quickly scrambling to take me by the shoulders and demand to know every detail that was said between us this afternoon.

I covered his mouth and shook my head. "It doesn't matter, what I wanted to ask was whether you would be willing to—maybe—tutor me?"

He froze and blinked rapidly, and I could practically hear his mind moving a mile a minute as he studied me.

"Stiles," I breathed, shifting uncomfortably and glancing away. I tried to brush it off with a laugh, but my cheeks were still red as I cleared my throat. "Come on, this isn't easy for me to ask."

He tried to answer but my hand muffled his words, and I quickly withdrew it and stepped away. He took a breath and scrunched his eyebrows at me. "Yeah, of course! I mean, I could try, I don't know how much help I'll actually be." He paused and squinted an eye. "She really said that they'd kick you out?"

I sighed and shook my head, running my hand through my hair and trudging back to the living room. "Yeah, it's a long story."

"Well I've got time," He said, following closely behind me.

"You've been saying _all night_ that we're gonna be late to the rave." I plopped on the couch and put my feet up.

"Well, then I'm _making_ time for this," Stiles knocked my booted feet of the couch and sat next to me, turning to face me. "Scott would understand. Explain."

I drew in a deep breath and rubbed my face. "Ugh, _no_ , it's embarrassing."

"What?" Stiles shook his head at me. "Shut up. You don't have to be embarrassed. I already know that you snore in your sleep."

I scoffed and swatted at him. "I do not!"

"You do," He laughed, ducking away from my swipe. "It's really loud, too. You sound like a wild boar that's being run over by a mower, but it didn't get chopped up the first pass, so they had to back the mower up and run it over again. And again. And sometimes it gets caught and sputters—"

" _Okay_ , okay," I laughed, punching him in the shoulder hard enough to make him shut up. I took a deep breath and sighed. "I'm failing my classes."

"Oh," Stiles shrugged and waved me off. "Is that it? That's not so bad. Scott's failing a couple, too. Which ones?"

I looked away to focus on the lamp that sat on the table nearby, fidgeting with the shade, muttering under my breath.

"Hmm?" He asked, leaning closer because he couldn't hear.

" _All_ of them," I snapped, and he jerked back in surprise.

"A-All of them…" He slowly blinked as he soaked this new information in. He reached back and scratched at his neck. "Well, not _all_ of them, though," He shrugged with a nod, "Like, not _English_. Right?"

"Yes, _all_ of them," I grumbled, ducking my head and drawing a long breath. "You know what? Forget I said anything—"

"No—wait—" Stiles grabbed my arm and pulled me back down on the couch. "I'm sorry, I'm being a dick again, okay? It's not that bad."

I scrunched my face pointedly at him and he paused.

"Okay, it's pretty bad, but it's not a _death_ sentence!" He paused again and I pursed my lips at him. "Okay, that was a poor choice of words—" I started to get up and he tugged me back down again with a choked laugh. I bit back a smile and he shook his head at me. " _Seriously_. You're going to be fine, Savannah. We'll get your grades up, and you're gonna be fine." He fixed me with a serious expression and I felt myself wanting to believe him. "You can do anything, Savannah. And if I have to be the one to help you to prove it, I will." He said, his thumb running over my arm. "You're the strongest person I know."

My mouth parted and I looked down, unable to hold his intense gaze. It's too much. He's so good—and I'm so—but he's saying that he thinks I can do it, and he believes it. He thinks I'm _strong_.

I looked back up at him and he smiled at me. "We'll get it taken care of."

Suddenly, we both noticed that his thumb was still running across my arm, and somewhere along the way I had grabbed his knee, and we were sitting so close that I could feel his heat—or maybe that was mine—but it didn't matter because it was _way_ too much.

We scrambled off the couch and took three steps away from each other, and Stiles pointed over at the door, tripping over the coffee table in his haste to leave. "W-We should go," He stuttered, quickly dodging me when I tried to help him from falling.

He bolted for the door and I called out to him. "Wait! Your jacket—it's—" I sighed and ran a hand into my hair. I turned around and covered my racing heart with my hand, my wide eyes looking around his empty house. _What the fuck just happened!?_

I heard a car door close and it sprang me into action. "Stiles!" I called. "Don't _leave_ me! I'm coming—" I snatched his jacket and raced to the door, slamming it shut behind me.

When I saw Sheriff Stilinski was in front of the porch, half turned to Stiles, I looked up and saw the expression on Stiles' face and abruptly stopped in my tracks.

"Hey," I cautiously greeted, and for the first time the Sheriff didn't reply to me. He peered at me with a miserable expression on his face and looked down at his feet.

" _Dad_ ," Stiles said, stepping forward with a frown on his face. "It's okay, what's going on?"

I stepped onto the porch and stood in the shadows, waiting to hear what was causing both of them to look so upset.

"Where's your gun?" Stiles asked.

Sheriff sighed heavily and dropped his arms at his side. "I left it at the station… along with my badge."

My eyebrows knit together and I watched them with dread, my heart sinking. Does that mean what I think it means? Why would he leave his stuff?…

"It was decided that the… son of the police chief stealing police property, and having a restraining order filed against him by one of the most respected attorneys—"

I glanced back down at Stiles, who could barely stand to listen to what his dad was saying and had glassy eyes, and I was stricken with the urge to go wrap my arms around him—a sensation that was so alien to me that it knocked me back a step. I gripped his jacket tightly in my hands and struggled to stand still as I listened to the rest of it.

"Did not reflect well on the county." Sheriff reluctantly finished, though it caused him pain to even say the words. I looked down at my feet and frowned, shaking my head.

"They fired you," Stiles clarified, his voice hoarse with emotion.

The Sheriff nodded, scrunching his face dejectedly.

"No." I finally said, drawing the gaze of both the Stilinskis. " _No_ , that's _bull_ shit."

"Savannah—" The Sheriff started, his hand up, and I quickly hurried down the steps.

"No! It doesn't have anything to do with him, does it?" I exclaimed, pointing at Stiles in fury. The Sheriff opened and closed his mouth, and I scoffed in disgust and shook my head. "This is about _me_ , and the fact that you've been giving me a chance! Because I've been hanging around the station without cuffs on and having _lunch_ with you and your son, and—" I broke off and I paused before continuing. "Sleeping on your couch. This is because I'm—" A muscle in my jaw jumped and I glanced away. "I'm… Savannah Carmichael."

"It's not about _you_ ," He insisted, shaking his head. "You're not my daughter."

I clamped my mouth shut and stepped back, looking over at Stiles. What Sheriff said, at face value, seemed like an accidental insult to me. But scratch just a little below the surface, and you can hear what Sheriff is actually saying. He's saying that Stiles is more at fault because he's his son, and conversely, I'm not as bad because I'm not his daughter. Even if I've got a worse reputation than Stiles—even if it does make more sense for the department to have a fit over _me_ , it's simply not the case. The politics of the job get in the way.

He might as well have smacked Stiles in the face. I could _feel_ the waves of regret and sorrow pouring from him, and I just wanted to fix it somehow.

"And anyways, i-it's just a leave of absence. It's temporary."

"Did they _say_ it was temporary, or?..."

"Actually, no," Sheriff nodded.

Stiles clenched his jaw and looked down. If they didn't say that this 'leave of absence' was temporary… I couldn't decide whether it was the polite way to fire him, or whether it was worse because it's unclear if it's a final decision when it's called a _leave of absence_. If they don't give him a specific return date, then it _is_ essentially firing him. And for what? For choices that Stiles has made to protect the town? For choices he had to make to try and _save_ people— _innocent_ people? Or for befriending _me?_

And now his dad is getting punished for that? It's not fair! And no matter what the Sheriff tells me, I know that part of this _is_ my fault. It has to be. Because like it or not, I am _nothing_ more than a petty criminal in the eyes of the police station. I'm an orphan, I have lived on the streets, I have stolen things, I have broken into places—I have done things that I can't even _remember!_ I've been arrested for stuff that I would never do, but there's _proof_ that _I_ did it!

I am _not_ a good person. And the fact that I've been taking advantage of these people has finally come around to bite me in the ass, because the Sheriff can't be seen showing any sort of favoritism to a criminal _or_ his son.

I considered all of this and more in the space of two breaths, and the Sheriff shook his head and pointed to his son. "Nah, don't worry about it… Hey. We're gonna be _fine_." He nodded, and then turned around to continue up the rest of the walkway to the porch. When he passed me, he patted my shoulder reassuringly and it made me feel sick to my stomach.

"Wait—Dad," Stiles frowned at his dad and shrugged a shoulder. "I don't—I don't get it, I mean, why aren't you angry at me?"

"I don't know." He sighed, shaking his head tiredly. "Maybe because I don't want to feel any worse than I already do by… having to yelling at my son."

My heart _broke_ as I watched this unfold, because I'd seen such a brief glimpse of the way these two care for each other. I'd seen how passionately they want to do the right thing, how hard they fight to make sure that at the end of the day, the good guys win. And right now… As Stiles watched his dad turn to finally retreat into the house, stripped of his badge and his gun—and everything that made him... _him_ … the good guys were _not_ winning. And it's not Stiles' fault. And it's not the Sheriff's fault.

I went to talk to Stiles, but he couldn't even face me as he turned to retreat to his jeep, and I squeezed his jacket in my hand. "Stiles, I'm s—I'm _sorry!_ "

"No, you know—Savannah," Stiles waved me off and shrugged a shoulder. "We're late. Scott's waiting for us."

I drew in a breath and looked down, nodding. Even though I know he felt like he should turn around and go back to his house to try and comfort his dad, to maybe even try and find out a way to fix it, Stiles went to get in his jeep. Because the whole reason we're even _in_ this mess is still out there, and he's hunting for another victim. _Someone_ is controlling him. And it's our job to find them. Sheriff can't be around to help solve the case anymore—so now it's up to us.

* * *

 ** _I haven't been getting very many reviews for the last few chapters! It's worrying me, tbh. Please leave a quick review! It doesn't have to be long, though I do welcome length responses, but some sort of word would be nice to hear._**

 ** _:) Thank you! More to follow shortly._**


	38. The One with the Fairy Dust

_**Once again, my reviewers have outdone themselves. [Tiny Tim voice] God bless them, every one. *Contentedly takes drink***_

 ** _Okay, sorry, onto the chapter then! XD_**

* * *

I felt tired, and sad, but mostly—I was worried. We'd picked up Scott at his house and briefly greeted him, but it was dejected and quiet. I rubbed my finger over my ticket. It wasn't easy, per se, to get the tickets. I'd actually had to sell off the last of my pills from my locker. I'd been saving them for a rainy day, but I guess this was as good a reason as any, and I had just enough to score three tickets. But it turned out that Stiles and Scott were able to get their own tickets at lacrosse practice—don't ask me how—so then I had two tickets leftover.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn't as hard to _sell_ them. I gave them to two kids in my Art History class, and ended up making a bit of a profit from it. Stupid freshmen. Anyways, the point is, I have my ticket and I got a little bit of money out of the deal.

I sighed as my thoughts drifted back to the Sheriff. I mean—how could he have lost his job? That job is _who_ he is. For the longest time, it was difficult for me to see the Sheriff as Stiles' _dad_. It wasn't until I saw them together, relaxed in their home and bantering, that it finally clicked for me. Sheriff is so much more than his job. He's also a father, and a damn good one, but his passion in life is definitely his career.

Now that's been taken away from him. Some part of me feels like it's selfish to shoulder the blame, especially since Sheriff Stilinski made it very clear that he doesn't blame me at all. But I _saw_ the way those officers looked at me when I went to have lunch with them. I know who I am to them. How could I _not_ be part of the problem?

The jeep ride has been quiet. Disturbingly so, but I couldn't find it in me to even attempt to fill it. I sighed as we finally pulled up to the rave and got out of the jeep. I followed more slowly as the boys went to gather the things from the trunk of the jeep.

"You guys okay?" Scott asked, looking between us with concern.

"Yeah, why?" Stiles frowned.

"You just didn't say anything the whole way here," He shrugged.

"We're fine." Stiles reached forward and took the giant trash bag of ash and I sighed, rubbing a hand over my hair. The air smelled like the sweet, smoky tang of the fake fog that comes out of fog machines, alcohol, and sweat. Inside, the music was so loud that I could feel the bass shaking the bumper of the jeep as I leaned against it.

"So what's the plan?" I crossed my arms. "I could help Stiles with the powder," I suggested, glancing up at Stiles knowingly. He'd mentioned something about wanting some help with it earlier. After what happened before we left, I really wanted to try to make things up to him. Especially if he was supposed to tutor me.

Stiles nodded and went to reach for the bag, but Scott reached out to stop his hand. "No, she can't. Remember? Deaton said this is something you have to do alone."

"Why?" I frowned. "All he has to do is believe that it'll work. Who cares who's pouring the crap?"

Scott shrugged unhelpfully and shook his head. "That's just what Deaton said."

"Well that's a bunch of sh—"

A strong breeze rolled down the alley, carrying the faint scent of cherries and perfume mixed with about a thousand other smells. Scott suddenly turned away and started towards the entrance of the factory. "What?" He murmured. "No! Not here," He bounded down the alley. "Not now!"

"Scott, stop!" I called, my shouts mixing with Stiles'. "Wait!"

We both cursed under our breath and I turned away to pace in front of the jeep. "Wha—Where's he going!?"

"It's Allison," I unhappily sneered, waving him off. "She's here for some reason."

I paused and frowned, tilting my head. Something smelled like… gunpowder. And then I squinted my eyes as Stiles continued speaking to me, but I wasn't listening I caught the definite scent of Derek, mixed with Bod cologne. Boyd and Derek are nearby.

I clenched my jaw and turned back to Stiles. "What?" I said, realizing he had asked me a question.

"Never mind, I got it." Stiles tore at the edge of the trash bag with his teeth. I winced at him and he spit the plastic on the ground with a shake of his head. "Okay," He breathed. "Here goes."

"Wait," I said, holding my hand out to grab his arm before he could dump any of the powder. He looked at me questioningly. "Let's start down there." I pointed down at the end of the alley, in the opposite direction of where Derek had been.

 _What? Judge me. I don't feel like dealing with him yet_.

"Why? It'll be easier to start and end at the jeep—"

"But the wind is blowing out there. If we start down there, then by the time we're finished and you're running low, you'll be at the other side of the building—which means the wind will be blocked."

"And less powder will be blown away," Stiles sighed, and nodded. "Good. See? I do need you."

I grinned at that, and he took a moment to smile back at me before gathering the bags up and heading down to the end of the alley. Before long, he began to dump a thick line of powder along the perimeter of the building, and I moved quickly along with him.

Each time I'd catch a whiff of Derek, I worried that he'd pop up behind a dumpster or come out from some dark corner like his usual dramatic self. But he never did, and as Stiles finished with one side of the building, he paused to scratch at his nose.

"God, that's been driving me nuts," He muttered, and I smirked at his antics. He took a deep breath and tipped the bag to carry on.

It was then that I heard the first gunshot. I whirled on my heels and stretched my hearing, but there were no words being exchanged that I could catch over the wind and the rave. The first gunshot seemed to break the silence—and suddenly all I could hear was a barrage of bullets.

I kept my mouth shut as I hurried Stiles along the building and waited— _dared_ someone to try and interfere.

By the time we were back by the jeep, Stiles was glancing around in paranoia. He had probably heard at least some of the gunfire, but I wasn't sure if he'd heard Derek's roars, too.

It must seem heartless for me to not go check it out. But to be honest with you, if there's one thing I've learned about Derek, it's that he can handle himself. If he needs help, he has a pack to help him. Part of me wasn't as concerned because I knew where Isaac and Erica were at—they were inside trying to deal with Jackson. I also knew that Boyd was with him, and as the most capable member of my old pack, I figured he fared better with Boyd fighting next to him than being distracted with my sudden interference. Besides, who's to say that I wouldn't end up being the reason one of them gets killed? I've never been the kind of girl to just go charging into gunfire, anyways. That being said, I couldn't deny that some part of me was worried—and it was difficult to not simply sneak off and try to find what was happening. But to just ditch Stiles would be cruel.

He's clearly struggling right now, and I don't necessarily mean the powder. While I know he doesn't need me here to hold his hand, I can't bring myself to just _leave_ and go check out what Derek has gotten himself into, or who was on the other side of the guns aimed at him.

"Savannah!" Stiles yelled, and I turned around from where I'd been staring off at. (The direction of the gunfire,) Stiles shook the empty bag in frustration, pouring the rest of the powder into his hand and chucking the bag onto the ground in a fit of rage.

"Well that's not good," I helpfully observed, standing on my tiptoes to peek at how much space was left between the lines of powder.

"What do we do!?" He exclaimed.

It pained me to do so, but I brought my hands up to shrug at him.

"What!? No! You have to help me!"

"What do you want _me_ to do about it?"

"I don't know!" He cried, whirling around on his heels. " _Help_ me!"

"Stiles," I said, stepping forward. "Deaton said you have to do this—"

"Screw that!" Stiles exclaimed, his eyes panicked as he pointed furiously down at the end of the line. "I'm all out of fairy dust, Savannah!"

I deflated and barely glanced at the unfinished trail of powder as I quickly moved towards him. "Stiles," I grabbed his fist that had the powder in it and held it between my hands. "Do you know _how_ I rolled a three last night?"

He raised his eyebrows at me skeptically. "Savannah, I'm not gonna leap around and chant like an idiot—"

"Shut up," I snorted, shaking my head. "As stupid as it sounds, I pictured that I was gonna roll that die, and when it landed, it was going to be a three, and I was going to have the satisfaction of knocking your pawn into the floor so I could gloat about it for the rest of the night." He gave me a dry look and I shook my head. "Seriously!" I squeezed his hand and grinned. "I'm not saying that if you _believe_ hard enough then your dreams will come true, because this ain't Disneyland. Did I _know_ I was going to roll a three? No. There was a chance I'd roll a six." Stiles rolled his eyes and I smirked. "But sometimes you just gotta roll the dice."

Stiles looked down at our hands, growing quiet as he studied them. I held my breath and watched with wide eyes until his eyes flickered back up to mine and the most minute smile crossed his face.

I broke into a wide grin and dropped his hand to let him pass. Honestly, I can't believe he bought that. Or maybe he didn't.

"This is so stupid," He snorted, shaking his head. He turned away and looked down at the other end of the line. I took a step back and waited as he studied the end of the line, letting out a slow, deliberate breath.

I brought my hands up to my mouth, pressing my palms flat against each other and touching the tips of my fingers to my lips as I watched Stiles take the first step, the powder falling slowly out of his hand like an hourglass, continuing the thick trail.

I didn't dare breathe until the last of the powder left his shaking hand—and closed the perimeter. Stiles looked down and gasped, and I let out a loud whoop.

He whirled on his heels and pumped his fists in the air with a cheer, and I launched myself at him with a giddy, belly-deep laugh. He lifted me into the air and laughed in disbelief, twirling me around.

For some reason, this was _the_ most gratifying experience I've had in the last few months. I was inexplicably relieved, and happy, and elated, all at once, all because Stiles managed to close the stupid perimeter on his own.

"I _knew_ you could do it!" I exclaimed, causing him to laugh loudly and tell me to shut up. Maybe it was because of what he'd just gone through with his dad. Maybe it was because I was able to at least have a hand in talking him into trying, to at least have _some_ part in helping him see his own worth. I don't know. But it felt so good to just wrap my arms around him that I didn't wanna let go.

My face was buried in his shoulder and he had his arms around me, squeezing me to him so tightly I could hardly breathe. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a moment to savor this feeling.

Finally, I let go of him and pulled away, careful to keep my eyes on the ground because—well… because reasons. Stiles drew in a breath and I took a step away before finally looking up at him. His wild smile was contagious, and I high fived him triumphantly.

"See? You should listen to me more often, Stilinski." I winked at him and he bounced on his heels, pumping his fists again.

"I _c_ _an't believe_ that _worked!_ " He cheered, and took a deep sigh.

Stiles turned back to the factory and snapped his finger. "Oh! Hey, we should probably go to that room that Scott told us about. It's time for phase two," He stepped over the powder and held his hand out to me. "Ready?"

I nodded and took a step forward, but frowned when I got too close. It felt… strange. My eyes were focused on his outstretched hand, causing Stiles to falter and follow my gaze. When he realized what he was doing he quickly tried to cover it by waving his hand and signal me to follow him. "C'mon!" He encouraged, and I shook my head and looked up at him.

"I can't," I frowned, and Stiles looked down at the powder. He gasped in a breath and pointed down at it as he took a sudden step back. Silently, he looked up at me and his eyes screamed the question. "Yeah!" I breathed. "It worked!"

"Yeah!" He cried, pumping his fists again, and then he looked back at where I was stuck and paused. "I mean, crap!"

He whirled around to look back at the factory, and then back at me.

"Well—" He said, throwing his hands up. "Now what?"

"Now… you—go!" I said, gesturing towards the rave. "They're expecting us, you need to go make sure they don't fuck it up."

"What?" Stiles frowned and shook his head. "No way! I need you."

I smirked and shook my head at him. "No, Stiles. You don't." I pointed down at the line of powder and raised my eyebrows at him. " _You_ did that. And you can handle those two dumb asses."

"Well, what are you gonna do?"

I paused and looked in the direction of where the gunfire had been. Sighing heavily, I shook my head. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but… I have something to do, too."

* * *

After a bit of reassurance, and a lot of persistence, I managed to persuade Stiles to go handle the Jackson situation. Besides, as much as I hate to admit it, there's no way I could leave Derek to fend for himself.

The gunfire had quieted—but so had the sounds of the werewolves. And to be honest, it had gotten pretty violent before it died down. The silence was ominous now. I thought Derek could handle himself, but if it was the Argents?...

I stuck to shadows and covered myself by hiding behind walls and ducking behind cars and dumpsters when I could, following my nose until I spotted him.

Derek was sitting alone against the back of a dumpster, a pool of blood splattering the pavement beside him. Boyd was gone, and I figured Derek had sent him off to safety. Bullet holes sprinkled the dumpster and walls around him, and I ducked through the shadows and slid to a stop next to him.

"Savannah," He panted. "What are you doing out here?"

"Saving your ass, I guess!"

"You guess?" Derek sneered back. "Where's your pack?"

"They're inside, with _your_ pack. Dealing with Jackson."

"Why aren't you with them?"

"The powder that Deaton gave us worked." I looked at Derek and pursed my lips. "Can't get in."

"I knew you didn't want to be here," He scowled, and I squinted my eyes at him in disbelief.

"What do you expect, Derek?"

"This is _so_ not the time," He hissed, leaning over to peer behind the dumpster. "I can't see them anymore. Can you?"

I thought to ask _who_ he couldn't see, but experience told me that's probably a waste of breath. I got to my feet and stepped over Derek as I peered over the side of the dumpster.

The alley was empty. There was shattered glass and plenty of rubble, some passed out men, and spent bullet casings. But other than that, there was no one. "Whoever it was, they're gone," I breathed, quickly flipping back down to sit by him again. "So what's the plan?"

"I've gotta find Scott."

"Shit," I gasped, smacking my forehead. "Crap! Where's Scott?!"

Derek raised an unimpressed eyebrow at me and paused. "You don't know where your new pack leader is at?"

"Shut up," I snapped, smacking his shoulder. "Let's just find him."

I helped Derek off the ground, and together, we set off the way I came. I told Derek that since we couldn't go inside the best place to wait would be Stiles' jeep. The trip back was faster to not have to duck through shadows, and with Derek at my side I'd always moved more confidently.

"Savannah," Derek grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop.

"What? Did you hear something?" I looked around and backed up to cover him.

"No—just—hold on a second."

I frowned at him, at his face, which was… it wasn't as angry as usual. He seemed uncomfortable as he looked anywhere but at me, his hand tugging at his side.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" I tugged at his wrist to try and look at his side, and he pushed my hands away and breathed out a frustrated sigh.

"No—God, would you just stop for a second?"

Unsure how to react, I dropped my hands back to my side and shifted awkwardly. The sounds of the rave thrummed behind us, and Derek paused to consider his words before speaking.

"You should know that the Argents are here to kill Jackson tonight."

My eyebrows shot up and I whirled on my heels to look in the direction of Stiles' jeep, my heart leaping. I'd sent him off to _watch_ Jackson! Did I send him into a trap?

"But Boyd and I held them off for a while. As long as the rest of the plan went like it was supposed to, the Argents can't get to him." Derek paused and reached out to me, thought better of it, and dropped his hand back to his side. "Anyways, I thought you should know."

I frowned at him, completely at a loss with how to handle this information. I shook my head at him. "Why are you telling me this now?"

Derek looked off in the distance over my shoulder. "Because I wasn't honest with you when I should have been. I never thought you'd actually leave us and—" He shook his head. "You were right."

"Of course I was," I sneered on instinct. I paused and looked away as I considered his words. "Wait, about what?"

"I chose you… because you were an easy target. You were weak, and willing to take any offer."

I dryly snorted and looked away. "Oh, yeah, that's great to hear. Thanks for clearing that up—"

He grabbed my elbow before I could leave. "But I've never been more wrong about someone."

I clamped my mouth shut and tilted my head back to look at him from the end of my nose in surprised skepticism.

"…Except, maybe, for Scott. But you both taught me not to underestimate someone just because they seem weak."

I studied him for a moment before giving him a single nod. "We should go." I said, turning to take lead. "Scott might need us."

The rest of the journey back was quiet, and I felt uncertain of how to act around Derek now. I wasn't furious with him anymore. It's not that I wanted to go back to his pack— _definitely_ not—but I almost felt bad for him now, for some bizarre reason.

Before I could consider it anymore, we stepped up behind the jeep and Stiles came bounding out of the factory. A wave of relief washed over me, and I waited to see Scott follow behind him.

Stiles spotted Derek and me and hesitated only briefly before jogging towards us, touching my shoulder when he was close enough. "Hey," He breathed, putting one hand on his hip awkwardly as he hesitated. "So—uh… we lost Jackson—"

" _What_ —"

"But it's, uh—" He broke off as Isaac and Erica came out of the factory and we watched as they approached the powder, but couldn't cross it. Stiles smugly nodded at them. "I did that," He bragged, turning to Derek, who looked at him blankly. " _I_ did something."

"Where's Scott?" I asked, grabbing Stiles to catch his attention. He blinked and opened his mouth at the same time that a very muffled, very distant, _very_ weak roar came from the factory.

I gasped and dropped his shoulders, and Derek commanded Stiles to break the line.

"What? Why?" Stiles started.

"Do it," I snapped, and he took one look at me before dropping to his knees and breaking the line. "It's Scott—" I quickly explained, looking down at Stiles. "He's in trouble!"

Derek jumped over the line and I followed closely behind him, hollering at Stiles to stay put.

When we found Scott, he was in some abandoned room with a single wooden table and a chair sitting in the middle. It was poorly lit, with one lightbulb swinging in a corner that cast wide shadows over the room.

Scott was lying on the ground, face down, and as soon as Derek stepped into the room he was jumped. He dragged them out of the doorway and threw them into the wall, and I sped past them and rushed to Scott's side.

I crouched by him with shaking hands, and checked his pulse. It was faint, but it was there—and he was barely breathing as I tried to take him under the arms and drag him towards the doorway. Behind me the fight was still going. I heard what sounded like skin breaking, and it sparked the memory of Derek biting Isaac in the graveyard—but when I squinted in the darkness Derek was alone and staggering to his feet.

It was surprisingly difficult to breathe, and at first I thought it was the adrenaline. But then my vision started to blur and my head felt like it was trying to float off, but it was also _really_ heavy—like it was trying to weigh me down and make me fall on the ground.

My movements became increasingly taxing, and it took me a few moments to realize Derek had crouched down beside me. He said something and I frowned and shook my head, my vision swimming.

He said it again and I squinted tightly, leaning over Scott to try and catch what he said.

" _Move!"_ He growled, and it was enough to scare me into action.

I grabbed Scott's ankles and Derek grabbed his shoulders, taking most of his weight, and together, we carried Scott out of the room.

* * *

We sat in the veterinarian's office. I was on top of a table, my back against a wall as I rested my head and willed the room to stop spinning.

"I can't believe that _bitch_ tried to kill Scott." I slowly sat up and squinted at Derek, because it was the best way to keep my vision from blurring. "You broke one of her bones, right?"

Derek's eyes were focused on Scott, his mouth drawn into a small, tight line.

"Just like—a pinky toe." I mused, rolling my head back and shutting my eyes. "Or a shoulder or something. Something to make her job at school _really_ hard. Or keep her from wearing those stupid heels of hers." I paused and raised my eyebrows thoughtfully. "It's the little things that get to you, ya know."

Derek sighed and I opened one of my eyes a fraction of an inch to peek at him. Grumbling to myself, I scrunched my face as I tried to fully open my eyes so I could give Derek my full attention, but Deaton walked back in and checked over Scott.

I watched him click that stupid pen and check Scott's pulse. "How long did you say this'll take to wear off?" I asked, squinting at Deaton.

"If your vision hasn't returned and your head isn't clear by the morning, you'll need to come see me again." He paused in front of me and held up his hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Which Deaton is asking?" I squinted, watching as Deaton split into four Deatons. "If you'd stop walking around, I might be able to answer—"

"I'm standing over here," Deaton said, his voice coming from the doorway.

I turned and frowned, squinting an eye. "Hmm."

"You'll be fine." He smirked at me. "What did you say your name was?"

"Ask Ms. Morrell out there," I pointed at him, making my fingers into a little gun. "She and I know each other _pretty_ well."

He stiffened for a moment before deflating and sighing. I dropped my thumb and made a quiet shooting noise as he turned away and disappeared through the door. I let my head fall back again and began humming to myself.

I was actually beginning to drift off when the smell of laundry detergent and spice hit my nose. Without moving, I sighed quietly and swung my feet. "Stiles," I murmured, and someone in the room shifted.

"How did you know I was here?!"

I lifted my head and squinted at him, and he looked at me from where he stood over Scott. "My _Spidey_ senses were tingling." I smirked, swinging my feet again. "Remember? Because I'm Peter Parker."

"Yeah," Stiles quietly grinned. "I gotcha. Scott seems… _fine_." He leaned over Scott's face and studied it closely. "I think he might be getting a pimple."

I snorted and crossed my legs, tucking my hands under my knee. "Did Derek leave?" I frowned, glancing around the room.

"No, he went to the restroom." Stiles stood up straight and put his hands in his pockets. "So are you ready to go?"

I took a deep breath and looked down at the ground. "Stiles…" I shook my head, but quickly decided _that_ was a bad idea as he split into multiple Stiles. "Maybe it's not such a good idea for me to be—" I paused and tried to find the appropriate word. "Staying with you and your dad while he's on leave."

"Savannah, don't be that way," Stiles came out from around the table and slowly approached me. "You're always welcome to stay with us."

"But is it a good idea, though?"

"What other choices do you have?" Stiles bluntly asked, and I hummed unhappily.

"I—don't—don't worry about that." I stuttered, blinking my eyes as I tried not to shake my head. "I'm fine."

"Of _course_ I'm going to worry about you," Stiles frowned, grabbing my hand. "Come on."

"No, Stiles, seriously."

" _Seriously_ , come on."

"Scott needs someone to stay with him—"

"Go." Derek stood in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. I sighed and started to protest, but Derek spoke over me. "I'll stay with him tonight."

"But, Boyd and the others—"

"They can take care of themselves," Derek raised his eyebrows at me and slowly walked into the room. "You don't give them enough credit, Savannah. They're more than capable of healing themselves."

I clamped my mouth shut at that little jab and frowned at him, and Stiles tugged at my hand.

"C'mon," Stiles said, swinging my arm over his shoulders to help me walk. "Let's go home."

I felt my heart skip at that phrase, and stumbled slightly when he tried to take a step. "Ugh," I growled. "Stupid Derek, making it look so easy."

Stiles snorted and shook his head. "My dad is gonna think you're drunk." He led me out of the room and my steps grew a bit more steady as we went.

"I was _poisoned_." I scowled. "This wasn't by choice."

"Yeah," Stiles guided me out of the clinic and the cool night air helped to clear my head a little. "Maybe I'll tell him you were drugged."

"Sure," I scoffed. "He'll buy that."

Stiles sighed and helped me into the jeep. Before he shut the door, he hesitated and focused on my face. I gave up on trying to read what time it was on the radio and turned to look over at him. He leaned against the door with his elbow resting on the edge, his fist against his mouth.

"What?" I said.

"You know that his job—it really wasn't your fault, right?"

I drew in a breath and squinted at him. "If I wasn't here… do you still think he'd have lost his job?"

Stiles paused to consider my question, looking down at my boots. "Yeah…" He nodded up at me. "I think so."

I reached down to pat his cheek, but because of my vision I missed and hit his shoulder. I only fumbled slightly and settled for patting his shoulder, my head swimming. "Agree to disagree. How many fingers am I holding up?" I raised a hand and instead of holding up my fingers, I ended up swiping at his face sloppily. "Trick question, _sneak attack!_ "

Stiles sighed at me and backed away, shutting the door.

* * *

 ** _Sneaky sneak, Savannah! You rascal, you._**


	39. Quagmire, Quahog - Frank Sinatra?

_**Oh my god you guys T_T I just watched the new episode of Walking Dead and ughhhh. If you watch the series and haven't seen it yet, know that it is one of the best episodes I've seen in a couple seasons. SERIOUSLY. Amazing. I actually have the next chapter finished already because it put me in the mood to write this one scene I had been dreading. So yeah, good stuff.**_

 _ **This chapter has lots of fluff! WEEEEEE, good news! XD Thanks for all the support btw :)**_

* * *

My stomach growled as I rummaged through the Stilinskis' pantry. The room stopped spinning some time in the night, and after the six-hundred-and-seventy-first sheep that hopped over my imaginary twirling fence, I was able to drift off into a fitful sleep.

My dreams last night were hazy and technicolor. I think it had something to do with the poison in the breed of wolfsbane that the hunters used, because my dreamscape is usually pretty dreary. So the good news is that most of the effects had finally worn off—the bad news is, now I'm ravenously hungry.

I grabbed an armful of whatever looked good and dragged it over to the counter—there was too much to carry to the table—and some of the things fell onto the floor with a loud clatter. I winced and quickly swiped them up.

Looking over the selection I'd chosen, I picked up a small bottle of chocolate sprinkles and flipped up the top to dump some in my hand. Sheriff Stilinski came wandering towards the kitchen. He's been like this all morning. Without a job to go to, Sheriff Stilinski seemed pretty aimless as he drifted from room to room and tried to find things to occupy his time with.

By the time I'd gotten out of—er, couch—Sheriff had brewed a pot of coffee and had flicked the news on to a low volume. I think he'd even finished that laundry Stiles left half finished in the other room.

He looked around until he spotted me. "Savannah," He started. "What was that—" His blue eyes locked onto my hands, where the bottle of sprinkles lay.

I brought my hand up to my mouth and tossed the sprinkles back, chewing thoughtfully at the taste. They were a bit… _stale_ , I think.

"What are you eating?" He frowned, scrunching his nose distastefully at the bottle in my hand. "Are those sprinkles? Where did you get those from?"

"From the pantry, next to the Captain Crunch," I explained, dumping another handful into my palm and then holding the bottle out to him. "Want some?"

"We have Captain Crunch?" He squinted down at my hand and shook his head. "Savannah, that can't be what you're having for breakfast."

I raised an eyebrow and pointed down to all the other stuff I'd brought with me. "It's not like it's _all_ I'm having for breakfast."

"Oh," Sheriff dryly said as he grabbed a blue box of Poptarts. "I thought I told Stiles to quit buying these! They're nothing but sugar!"

"I was gonna save that for _lunch_ ," I said, picking up a generic package of sweet cereal from the counter. I hesitated under Sheriff's disapproving gaze he suddenly fixed on me, eyes flickering between my face and the bag in my hands.

"No." He suddenly said, and I sputtered as he snatched all the foods from me and gathered the rest into his arms. "You're going to have a balanced breakfast."

"Oh god, seriously? But I hate oatmeal!"" I whined, my nose scrunching in defiance as he moved around me to get to the trashcan. I gasped as he methodically began to dump all of the items into the trashcan with loud thuds. "No!" I gasped, hopping forward to intercept the blue Poptart box just before he threw it away. "Not the s'more flavor!"

Sheriff leveled a disapproving gaze but only sighed as he continued to throw the rest out. He finished by dramatically brushing his hands off over top the trashcan, letting the lid snap shut.

"Sit there, and watch." He pointed at the counter and I went to hop up, still clutching the Poptarts for dear life.

"You're bossy this morning," I pouted, and he went to the fridge and began to get out a wide array of ingredients. Eggs, milk, and other boring stuff.

Sheriff began to narrate what he was doing. I think he was trying to teach me how to make an omelet, but it took me until he began whisking the ingredients together to realize it.

"It's all in the wrist," He told me, his whisk moving impossibly fast around the bowl.

I watched, incredulous, as his hand almost blurred. "Damn, son. Who you tryna impress?"

He looked over at me with a completely bewildered expression, and I struggled to keep a straight face for longer than two seconds. I broke into a grin and he caught on. "Oh," He nodded. "You're joking. Okay, wise guy," He held the bowl out to me. "Here. You try it."

I scoffed and gave him a dry look, but he just stared at me expectantly. I pressed my lips together and bobbled my head mockingly, grabbing the bowl and taking the whisk.

When I tried, some of the egg sloshed out of the bowl.

"Loosen up," He said, grabbing my wrist to move it how it should go. "It should be moving like that."

"Okay, I got it, I got it, I got it," I said, my chest puffed out as I spaced my feet farther apart and cracked my neck. This time the eggs didn't slosh over, and I actually got a pretty substantial whirlpool going in the bowl.

Sheriff told me to stop to add some salt and pepper, and I grabbed the saltshaker and made a huge show of sprinkling it in. " _Bam!_ " I hollered, imitating Emeril Lagasse and causing the Sheriff to throw his head back and laugh.

* * *

After having a balanced breakfast, I decided to take a shower and wash off all the dirty nastiness from the rave-capades last night. Get it? Rave-capades? Like escapades? No?

Okay, well, after that I lounged around and watched mindless television for like, two hours until Stiles finally emerged from his room with an arm full of books and told me it was time to study. Our English books rested on the table in front of us. On the paper we were going over, a list of vocabulary was nearly finished. Stiles pointed to a word.

"So tell me what a quagmire is," He said, and I blew a loud sigh out and collapsed back in my chair.

"I thought it had something to do with, like, clams."

Stiles fixed me with a disbelieving look until I finally responded. "What?" I ran a hand over my hair. "Is that not right?"

"No, you're thinking of quahog, and you've been watching too much Family Guy."

"Well I'm behind two seasons!" I defended, throwing my hands out and causing Stiles to laugh. "What do you expect me to do? I sleep on the couch, the television is right there."

He sighed and shook his head. "A quagmire is like an awkward and complex situation."

"But this says it's a swamp." I pointed down at the paper and then held it up for him to see. " _A boggy area of land that gives way underfoot._ " I pursed my lips at him and he pointed at a different spot on the page.

"An awkward, complex, or hazardous situation." He threw my facial expression back at me.

"What? I've literally _never_ heard anyone use that word in that context!"

"You've heard someone use the word quagmire in a casual conversation?"

"Sure, they said, Stiles' crush on Lydia has become quite the quagmire, hasn't it?"

He started to stand up and leave and I tried to muffle my laugh as I grabbed his elbow and profusely apologized.

"Don't go, I'm sorry!" I bit back a snicker as he settled down with a sigh and gave me a dirty look.

"Do you want to pass this class or not?"

"I do," I said, and he tilted his head.

"Do you want my help, or not?"

"Yes," I rolled my head back and sighed. "Look—maybe I can even help you out with Lydia."

Stiles grew quiet as he studied me with a wary expression. "How can you help me?"

"I mean, I _do_ know what girls like."

He scrunched his nose and scooted away. "No, that'd be weird."

"Weird?" I asked, grinning uncertainly at him. "Why would it be weird?"

"I-I don't know," He sputtered, shrugging a shoulder. "It just would! Don't you think it would be weird?"

"Look, let's try it now and if it's weird we don't have to do it ever again."

Stiles seemed to be considering it as he looked away to stare absently at the papers on the table. "…What did you have in mind?"

I took a breath and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, settling back in my seat and crossing my legs. "Well, I mean, we're going to Lydia's party tonight. Right?"

"Not even the Kanima waving a decapitated head on a stick in front of my house could stop me from going to Lydia's birthday party," He said, a grim expression on his face.

My first instinct was to burst into laughter, and Stiles smiled and let out a grudging chuckle as he reflected on what he said. I waved my finger at him. "Whatever that was," I warned, looking him up and down. "Leave it here tonight."

Stiles nodded and quietly agreed.

"I'm serious. Lydia would take one look at that and she'd run in the other direction."

"Okay, I get it. I should take it down a level because girls like when a guy seems uninterested."

I sputtered as he nodded solemnly.

"I get that," He continued. "That's probably why she's so into Jackson."

"Oh my god," I quietly said, horror across my face. "We have so much work to do."

He frowned as I stood up and began to pace. I tapped a thumb on my lips and wracked my brain for a good place to start.

"Okay…" I said, putting my hands out. "Okay. So we walk up to her house and ring the doorbell."

Stiles nods and seems to really be getting into this exercise, cracking his neck and shaking out his hands. "Okay."

"Lydia answers the door. What do you say?"

"Happy birthday, Lydia—"

"Good!" I pointed a finger at him, but it seemed he wasn't finished.

"You look incredibly stunning, as usual."

I paused and considered his words, tilting my head. "O-Okay. That's… that sounds like you." Stiles nods and lets out a relieved sigh. I smirked and turned away to continue pacing. "We go into the party. What do you do next?"

"After I put my present with the others, I wait until she's available again."

I nodded and teetered my head noncommittally. "Okay, sure. And when she _is_ available again?"

Stiles hesitated and seemed slightly confused. "That doesn't usually happen." My eyebrows drew together and he stared up at me for a few beats more. When it became obvious that I wasn't going to respond, he thought hard on the matter. "I… tell her how beautiful she looks."

"You already did that," I pointed out, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Well then… I tell her again."

I winced and shook my head. "Maybe… or, you could ask her to dance, right?"

Stiles quietly formed the word _no_ on his lips and shook his head, immediately rejecting that idea.

"What? Why not?"

"No, that's—that's not a good idea." He vehemently shook his head and I scoffed and tilted mine defiantly at him.

"Actually, yeah it is." I reached for his hand and tugged him off his chair.

"No—it's really not—" He sighed heavily and stared unhappily at me.

"I'm Lydia _freakin'_ Martin, and you better ask me to dance, Stiles or whatever your name is." I flipped my hair over my shoulder and Stiles shook his head.

"Alright, I think that was a little exaggerated though," Stiles tried, and I shook my head and spoke over him.

"What? I can't hear you over all this _dancing_ music!"

"There's no music!" Stiles held his hands out and shrugged his shoulders. "Can't dance if there's no music."

I finally breathed out a tired laugh and dropped the act. "Okay, seriously," I said, frowning at him. "This should be like a dream come true for you. Dancing with Lydia at her birthday party?" I scoffed and pushed his shoulder. "This should be a _wet_ dream come true for you."

Stiles groaned and his face heated to a bright red that immediately caused a wide, calculated smirk to spread across my face at how cute he was. Wait. _What? Cute? No! Focus._

"It's just not a good idea, okay? There's gotta be something else I can—"

"Ohhhh," I grinned like the Cheshire cat, circling him almost predatorily as I ran a hand across his shoulders. "I get it."

"What—Savannah—" He tried to follow me as I circled him, but got confused and ended up tripping over his feet slightly.

"You've got two left feet," I said, righting him before he could topple over.

He scoffed loudly—too loudly—and immediately tried to straighten up and puff his chest out. "That's ridiculous. I just think she'd say no if I asked."

" _No?_ " I raised my eyebrows and came around to stand in front of him again. "No girl in her right mind would say _no_ to a dance on her birthday if a nice boy asked."

"She danced with me at the formal last year, and it was _amazing_. But all I can do is sway and—she was so focused on Jackson she barely noticed who was dancing with her. And then she ran off to go looking for him," He grumbled.

"Tonight's gonna be different. Remember how she and Jackson were fighting at Scott's house during the study session?" I reached out to poke his chest. "I _bet_ you they're having problems. In fact, with everything that's going on with him, he might not even show up tonight!"

"Then he's dumber than I thought he was," Stiles snorted, and I fixed him with a dry look.

"Focus, please?" I crossed my arms at him. "So, not only is it Lydia's birthday, she almost might be having problems with Jackson. _You_ show up to her party and give her a kick-ass gift, tell her she's beautiful, and then you ask her to dance."

Stiles frowned at me. "Why are you helping me with this?"

I fought back the warmth in my cheeks. " _Because_ you've been in love with this girl since the moment I met you, and if she's really who you want to be with then you need to stop questioning my free help and just say thank you and accept it."

He watched me for another beat, hesitation still clear on his face. I turned around and looked over the room. There was no stereo to be seen, which was a bit of a downer.

"I can't even dance," He finally admitted, and an unwarranted memory sprang to my mind.

I looked at him without seeing his face. In my mind, I jumped back into my childhood, and nostalgia hit me like a wave. My throat tightened a bit and I cleared it before holding my hand out to him. "What are you so afraid of?"

He blinked in surprise at me and seemed to consider my words. "Rejection. Humiliation. My heart being shattered into a sad, pathetic heap of failure."

"Come here," I said, taking his hand. He seemed to want to protest, but I placed one of his hands on my waist and put mine on his shoulder, holding his other as I turned us in gentle circles and guided us around the room. "See? We're dancing. Nothin' to it."

"Yeah, but you're leading right now," He complained, and I snorted. "This feels very emasculating."

This time I outrightly laughed. I switched tactics and briefly picked up the pace, and he grumbled as he concentrated on our feet.

"Stop thinking about it so hard." I ducked my head until I caught his gaze and smirked at him. "Hey, _hi_. Up here. See, _there's_ your problem. You plan things too much. My dad always used to say the key to being smooth is to approach it like you've already won her."

"Wouldn't that just make me seem cocky?"

"Not if you do it right." I looked away as I thought back to the advice my dad had given me and my brother all those years ago. "It's like trying to do improv," I explained. "My dad was a big theater geek—and he explained it like this:

"Improv works the best when you don't go in with a plan. When you go in with every word planned out, you get so caught up in delivering the lines that you end up stressing yourself out. It's like when you watch a talk show and it's totally obvious that some of their conversation was scripted. Everyone who goes on a talk show wants to seem effortlessly charming, but it doesn't always happen. All the greatest comedians know that their best material comes from the _moment_ , not the script."

I smirked up at him. "That's your thing, right? You're the funny one. You _have_ a goal in mind: dance with her. So stop examining it so closely. You've already been staring at it for too long, maybe it's time to look away."

Stiles looked down at me with a grudging respect. "Your dad taught you all that?"

I pursed my lips and tilted my head. "Well, my dad taught me about improv in the theater. The rest I picked up myself," I grinned at him and spun us in a circle. "Think you're ready to take the lead?"

We stopped and Stiles took a deep breath, looking down at our feet. Slowly, and awkwardly, he guided us a step back. I smiled at his uncertainty as he fumbled to turn us. "Stop planning it, Stiles," I advised, and he huffed out a growl as he suddenly turned us the opposite way. I almost tripped and a surprised giggle flew out of my mouth.

" _Crap_ —Sorry! See what happens when I try new things?" He panicked in annoyance, and I held tight as he tried to pull away.

" _Relax_." I widened my eyes at him and raised my eyebrows encouragingly. "This is supposed to be fun!"

"Well, maybe if there was some music I could get into it more!"

I sighed and decided to switch tactics— _again_. "My dad taught me to dance, too," I blurted, thinking that maybe if I spoke about my family some more it might surprise him enough to shut him up.

Sure enough, Stiles clamped his mouth shut and looked down at me with cautious eyes. I turned my head away to focus on the room around us as we continued to slowly turn.

"Beacon Hills winter formal, my brother's sophomore year of high school. I was still in girl scouts—"

"You were in _girl_ scouts?"

"Well my dad wanted me to join at first. He led my brother's boy scout troop and I used to get so jealous when they would go camping or bond over tying knots and setting up tents. So my dad suggested that I join girl scouts… he didn't understand that I wanted to spend time with _them_ , not become a girl scout. But his heart was in the right place. Anyways, I thought it would be like what Jack had with boy scouts—like we'd go hiking and do obstacle courses and have water balloon fights, and I'd learn enough to be able to finally join in their conversations like I knew what was happening. Turns out the fun stuff that Jack did was all my dad's leadership, because when I joined girl scouts, all we did was go to Build-A-Bear and make macaroni art and sing songs.

"I'd come home from the meetings, and my brother and dad would want to know what we did that night. It was so embarrassing to have to tell them that we made crafts and learned a new song."

"Yeah, but _you_ got the cookies," Stiles pointed out, and I smiled sadly.

"And my brother got to do scavenger hunts with our dad." I drew in a deep breath and shook my head, looking away again. "Anyways, just after my first year of girl scouts, Jack was basically too old to do boy scouts anymore so he quit. But not before making a bet with me that he'd always have more badges than I did. He had _fifty_ badges. I think it was a bit of a cheat that dad was his leader, but whatever. So I was _one_ badge away from beating him at the time of his winter formal.

"I'd been hyped up about earning fifty badges, and dad and I were celebrating it with some cups of hot chocolate and another Mrs. Doubtfire movie night—Robin Williams was his favorite actor—and Jack came bursting into the living room rambling about how nervous he was over this stupid dance.

"Dad paused the movie and asked him to slow down and start from the beginning. So Jack told us that he'd somehow gotten his crush to agree to be his date to the dance, but now he was panicking because he had no idea _how_ to dance. When dad asked him how he'd finally gotten her to say yes, Jack grew quiet and told us that he'd promised to help her win back her ex-boyfriend by blowing him away with how great they looked dancing together and how much fun she'd have without him."

Stiles snorted. "That seems counter-productive."

"That's Jack for you," I sighed, shaking my head. "He's all about making grand promises and getting you all hyped up and ready to take on the world without any actual ability to follow through. Which, usually, is where my dad would come in and teach him how to do something last minute.

"And that's what happened in this case. Dad told him he'd teach him every dance he knew, even if it took all night—which ruined our plans for Mrs. Doubtfire. Before I could even say a word, dad pulled me out of the couch and spun me around the room in a fantastically horrible dance," I laughed, grinning at the memory. "It would've been pretty cool if I'd known what I was doing—but he made his point.

"I watched him teach Jack the basic steps to a slow dance. When they finished, Jack asked him what was next. Dad told him, nothing. That's it. The slow dance, he said, is the only dance you'll need to steal her heart." I smiled sadly and leaned into his shoulder, closing my eyes as I recalled the way my dad had spun me around the room after saying that. "Jack told us he was sure he would screw this one up. He thought he'd dug his own grave. Dad told him not to be embarrassed, even if he stepped on her toes. Even if her ex-boyfriend cut in before he swept her off her feet, because he said, 'She might be your first dance, but she won't be your last. Like Frank Sinatra said, The Best Is Yet To Come.' And then he put that Frank Sinatra song on, and we practiced dancing until mom came home with dinner. And my fifty-first girl scout badge was for ballroom dancing."

Stiles didn't say a word. I'm kind of glad he didn't, because I was busy reliving that night with my eyes closed, humming the song softly as he guided us around. "That's the last time we were all together and really, truly happy. After that, everything changed."

I know it must have been killing him, but to my surprise, he didn't ask me to elaborate. He pulled me closer and led me in smooth, slow turns, his steps now more confident and coordinated. My heart ached as I thought about how ironic the title of the song was, given that my dad passed away, and I wondered what he'd think of me now. Would he still be saying that? Would he still think the best is yet to come for me?

"I can't believe you have fifty-one girl scout badges," Stiles suddenly said, and I snickered and pulled back to look at him seriously.

"Tell anyone and I'll make you regret it."

"How? Will you make me an angry macaroni art—"

I stepped on his foot and he choked out a laugh and sputtered an apology.

"You learned how to put on an act from your dad, didn't you?" Stiles suddenly deduced.

I scoffed and looked away. "What? What are you—I don't know what you're talking about."

"You can act like you're angry all the time because of everything your dad taught you about the theater."

"No way," I laughed, and then abruptly frowned. I'd never realized it before, but somehow, his words struck home. Could it be true? Could I have unconsciously picked up advice that my dad had given me when I was young and twisted it into some obscure coping mechanism? "Shut up, that's ridiculous." I smacked his shoulder.

"I could knit you a pretty mean set of coasters, though." I nodded thoughtfully and let out a sigh. "I didn't have enough patience to finish hats for my troop, so I stopped when the tops were made and told them they were coasters. Somehow I still got the badge for that."

"Yamakas," Stiles mused, and I pressed my forehead into his shoulder to muffle my laugh. "This wasn't weird," Stiles suddenly decided as we leaned against each other in the true form of a slow dance. I felt slow warmth spreading through my belly and my heart did a weird sort unfamiliar of flutter, and I turned my head to rest my cheek on his shoulder to hide my smile.

"No," I quietly agreed. "This isn't weird at all."


	40. Holy Shit!

And for a moment I thought you were here

But then again, it wasn't true

And all this time I have been lying

Oh, lying in secret to myself

I've been putting sorrow on the farest place on my shelf

 _\- Runaway, AURORA_

* * *

Later that night, Stiles came bounding into the living room like a mad man. "Savannah," He breathed, "Hold the front door open for me!"

"Why?" I frowned, turning to look at him from the couch.

"I've gotta take this to the jeep!" He called, his voice muffled because he had raced back down the hall. "Lydia's party starts in like, half an hour! We have to go _now!"_

He came hurrying back into the living room with a gigantic yellow and pink florally wrapped present that was so huge, it was nearly bigger than him and he struggled to hold it upright.

"Well, I don't know where you plan to put that impossibly huge gift," I said, tilting my head. "Because I'm definitely calling shotgun to that thing. What is it?"

"It's—ah—it's a surprise."

"Come on," I waved my hands. "You're not giving it to _me_ , what'd you get her?"

Stiles sighed and readjusted the box in his arms. "It's a couple things, actually. A little dog house for Prada and a bunch of sample perfumes from the Macy's counter. I ran out of money or I would've bought her actual perfume bottles..."

My mouth popped open and I gawked at him. "Oh, is that all?" I sarcastically asked, and Stiles' eyes widened.

He turned to go back down the hallway. "You're right, it's not enough—I knew it—"

"Stiles!" I called out, half amused, half worried. I gave him a disturbed look and made a calming gesture as I backed away toward the front door. "It was a joke. I was _joking_. It's perfect."

He sighed and nodded, and I turned away to shake my head to myself as I opened the door for him. He struggled to find the right way to fit the present through, and nearly tore the wrapping at one point, but eventually he got it right and burst into the yard to go find a place for it in the jeep.

"Are you sure you need to ride in the front seat?" He asked, turning to squint his eyes at me. I gave him a flat look and he shook his head. "No, you're probably right. That's rude."

"You could strap it to the top," I shrugged, and Stiles looked at me like I'd suggested tossing it down into the fiery depths of Mordor.

"And leave it _exposed_ to the elements?"

"The only thing it's in danger of is the full moon. I really don't think there's a chance of rain," I mused, holding my hands up to the very dry, very tame night sky. "Just don't go through a tunnel and you'll be fine."

He scoffed and turned back to the jeep thoughtfully. "Maybe…" He finally allowed, and I nodded and crossed my arms.

"Yep. That's what you should do."

Fifteen minutes and some intense bickering about the best way to strap a large present to the top of his jeep later, we stood back to examine our work. I sighed happily and nodded at the jeep.

"It looks…"

"Ridiculous." Stiles finished, and I snorted and nodded with him. "Okay, hurry and change. We're seriously going to be late if we don't go soon."

I looked down at my clothes and threw my hands out. "What's wrong with this?"

The sleeves of my t-shirt were rolled up, and it was a dark red with white print, and it read Let's Settle This Like Adults, with three different hands in the Rock, Paper, and Scissors position. Besides that, I had a pair of black jeans and my boots on.

"Is that my shirt?" He frowned and I threw my thumb over my shoulder.

"So I'll just go grab one of your dresses?"

He abruptly clamped his mouth shut and reached out to shove my shoulder. "Asshole jar." I threw my hands up but laughed as we went back to the house. "Seriously. There's gotta be something you can change into, right?"

"I don't go to many..." I started to say parties, but that's not exactly true. I have been to quite a few parties. But not anywhere it was expected for me to dress up or anything. "Of Lydia's parties," I finished.

"Well if you show up like _that_ she might not let you in."

I raised my eyebrows at him, unimpressed. "You _sure_ you like this girl?"

"Okay," Stiles sarcastically nodded, looking away. "Maybe just tell her happy birthday and you like her shoes and she won't notice."

"I'm not gonna kiss up to her." I frowned, and Stiles sighed and ran a hand over his hair. I dug through my pockets and pulled out a wrinkled dollar, shoving it into the Asshole Jar, closing the lid, and brushing my hands off. The Asshole Jar now had a pretty little neon label reading _Potty Mouth_ , taped on by yours truly. The writing was actually surprisingly curly and cute for what it was made for. You can thank all those crafts from girl scouts for that.

"Fine. I figured that, but it was worth a shot. Anyways, it's probably not even gonna matter, let's just go before we're late."

"Yes," I hopped back outside as Stiles called out a goodbye to his dad, and we quickly raced to the jeep.

I touched the passenger door before him. "I win!"

"Werewolf cheat," He frowned.

"Weenie excuse!"

* * *

We got out of his jeep and in a matter of minutes we were at her door, Stiles standing in front of me with her giant present. He reached forward to ring her doorbell and turn to give me an excited smile.

The door opened, and Stiles shouted, "Happy birthday!"

I grinned fondly as he shook his present enthusiastically and Lydia let out an awkward laugh. Getting to my tiptoes, I peeked over the present and saw the top of Lydia's head. She glanced at me and faltered only slightly before stepping back to invite us in.

Stiles tried to step through but ran into the doorframe with the oversized present. I covered my mouth to keep from laughing when he tried again to no avail, repeatedly running into the door.

"St—Stiles," I gently said, trying to help him. "Turn it sideways."

He rammed it into the door and pushed it as hard as he could. Lydia turned away and retreated into her house, hollering at us to make sure we tried the punch as she left.

" _Turn it_ the other way!"

He finally flipped it over and went bounding into the house, and I sighed and followed much more slowly. I stepped up beside him and patted his shoulder. "Nailed it," I teased, smiling in amusement.

Stiles' face was bright red as he trotted through her house slowly, her present knocking down something that shattered. We whirled around to look at the shattered vase with wide eyes.

"I'm not telling her," I furiously whispered, and Stiles was rapidly shaking his head no in a panic. "Quickly walk away," I hurried him forward and he tripped over his feet in his haste. "Walk away!"

Scott was already inside when we finally got deeper into the house. He was waiting for us in some hallway—to be honest with you, Stiles seemed to know where he was going, but I sort of floundered helplessly in her massive labyrinth of a house. There were more hallways in it than rooms, it seemed, but what do I know? Most of the rooms were closed off.

The walls were all a cheery, warm yellow with white trim, and it smelled like freshly dry-cleaned cashmere sweaters. Expensive and tasteful. That basically sums up the Martins' residence.

"I think that's like, the third fireplace I've seen so far," I said to Scott as Stiles went to dump his present with the rest.

Scott smirked and nodded. "The first time I came here I thought this was the house they filmed Haunted Mansion in."

I snorted and looked him over. "Hey, someone looks nice," I elbowed him playfully. "Where's Allison?"

He seemed slightly surprised at my compliment, and hesitated slightly before responding. "Uh—she's… coming."

"Oh," I nodded as if I understood, but I didn't. Deciding to drop it, I sighed and crossed my arms. "I thought there would be more—I don't know… decorations."

"They're probably out at the pool," Stiles said, coming up beside me to steer me down another hallway. "S'up, dude?"

"Hey," Scott said, and Stiles took a deep breath to explain to Scott what he and his father had uncovered about the Kanima. Basically, the connection between all the victims turned out to be the swim team. Specifically, the victims were the 2006 Beacon Hills swim team. Even Isaac's _dad_ was the coach.

Now, this is a pretty significant clue, but it kind of feels like we're just staring at one small piece of the puzzle. The big picture isn't clear yet, so this small piece doesn't quite connect to anything or make a lot of sense, but it's there. And it's the best we've got.

"It could also explain the fear the Kanima has of water," Stiles rationalized, and Scott seemed a bit overwhelmed as he tried to make sense of this new information.

"For what it's worth, I'm still really confused about the whole thing." I tipped my head to Scott and he let out a relieved laugh.

"Oh good, I thought I was the only one."

"No, it seems like the more we uncover, the less it makes sense." I pursed my lips and Stiles shrugged a shoulder.

"There's gotta be something we're forgetting," Stiles said, shaking his head as we finally stepped into Lydia's back patio. "We're so close. It has to be something we overlooked. But what else is there?"

At that exact moment, Allison approached us in a white, flowery dress. Night had fallen and the fairy lights that Lydia strung across the top of the patio created a nice, glowing ambiance. Upbeat dance music played from the speakers on the pillars of the wooden awnings that surrounded the pool, and I admired the layout of the whole thing. I mean, I've got to hand it to her. Lydia is snobby, but it's not like she doesn't have the money to back it up.

"Jackson's not here yet," Allison gravely said, as if she was delivering the news that someone had died.

I raised an eyebrow and Stiles said, "Yeah, no one's here yet."

"Well maybe it's just early," Scott tried.

"In the movies, people wait at least a half an hour after the party is supposed to start to actually show up," I noted. "And everyone in our school seems to follow the lead of movies, so…"

"Or maybe it's because Lydia has turned into the town Whack Job and no one wanted to come," Stiles bitterly said, and I frowned at him in surprise.

"That was shockingly critical to say."

"She's not the _Whack Job_ ," Allison defended. "And we have to help her because we've completely ignored her for the past two weeks."

"Well, that and it's her birthday," I dryly added, and Allison seemed to mentally wince before nodding at my point. "She should probably have guests at her birthday…"

"We don't owe her a party," Scott shook his head and shrugged at Allison and I couldn't help the surprise that colored my face. I glanced briefly at Stiles and he seemed to be a little more prepared for Scott's behavior than I was. _Sassy pants_.

"Well what about the chance to get back to normal?" Allison suggested.

Scott frowned. "Normal?"

"If it wasn't for us she wouldn't be the town's Whack Job." She glanced pointedly at Stiles. I frowned as I tried to remember what we did to make her a Whack Job… "Uh, except you, Savannah," She added, shaking her head. "You don't owe her anything."

I snorted. "Damn straight."

Scott sighed. "I guess I could pull rank as co-captain to get a few people here."

I smirked at him and patted his shoulder. "You know, I'm liking you more and more. The full moon brings out an interesting side of you."

Stiles stepped to the away to make a few calls of his own, and Scott took me by the elbow to pull me aside. Curiously, I let him. "How are you doing?"

"Well, I'm a little uncomfortable so far but other than that I plan to drink, so that should be taken care of soon enough."

"Is that a good idea?" Scott frowned, and I raised an eyebrow. Before I could vocalize the intense _hell yes_ on my face, he shook his head. "I mean, _the full moon_. Is it a good idea to be drinking on the full moon? Aren't you feeling it?"

"You know, here's something interesting about me," I grabbed Scott's shoulder to lean in like I was letting him in on a huge secret, and he played along. "I'm sort of like the Hulk… I'm _always_ angry. The only thing the bite did was give my monster a face, but it's always been here with me."

Scott looked confused as I patted his shoulder and stepped away. I crossed the pool and, without saying a word, I grabbed a drink off Lydia's tray. She blinked at me and started to say something, but before she could I held my finger up and took a swig.

I smacked my lips thoughtfully before giving her a cheesy thumbs-up. She closed her mouth in surprise and I stepped away without ever speaking to her.

About half an hour later, the party had finally gained some traction, and I was hiding out in the corner of the patio with my drink. Jackson had finally showed up, much to our dismay and Lydia's pleasure. He actually looked hella constipated, but I suppose sharing a split personality with a lizard demon might do that do a person. Or perhaps more accurately, the full moon seemed to be grating his nerves. It's not that I'm _immune_ to the full moon's effects. I'm just used to being bogged down by heavily negative emotions and I seem to have adjusted well to dealing with it by now. If I couldn't handle a little agitation I wouldn't have lasted as long as I did as a human. Still, to stave off any unnecessary altercations, I distracted myself by watching people interact and narrating their conversations into much funnier, much worthier content.

"You're staring at Jessica pretty intensely," Allison noted, taking a seat next to me. I looked over at her and sighed.

"She's wondering what the best way to lie during a lie detector test would be." I murmured, and Allison turned to look at her. From across the patio, we watched Jessica gasp and grab some guy's shoulder.

"Seriously?" Allison asked, frowning at me.

"I wonder _why_ … Oh, our pal Henry over there is trying to explain to Joaquin what security theater is. And Alan is trying to tell Coby that being circumcised is technically useless, which is offensive because I'm pretty sure Coby is Jewish. Over there Mitchell and Garrett are arguing over whether we seriously only use ten percent of our brain."

Allison looked perplexed as she glanced over all the people I'd mentioned. "Really?"

"I dunno," I shrugged, causing her to look back at me in confusion. "But that would make for some interesting conversations, wouldn't it?"

I took a sip of my drink and Allison made an excuse about needing to use the restroom before fleeing the scene. I sighed to myself and shook my head.

I took another swig of the pink punch after she left, noting that it tasted like the sweetest grapefruit I'd ever tasted in my life. The party had really gotten going. I smirked at all the dancing—the most terrible moves I'd ever seen at a party. Actually, it didn't even look like dancing.

It looked like everyone took a little nip of some special mushrooms and embarked on a spiritual journey. Some waved their arms in the air like there was something swirling around them, and others were bouncing like their lives depended on it. I watched one girl peer around a column by the pool to look up at the twinkling lights Lydia had strung around with an abnormal amount of interest.

I frowned down at my drink and Lydia's voice suddenly interrupted my thoughts.

"Hope you're enjoying the party," She smiled, a tray of fresh drinks in one hand and the other on her hip.

I raised an eyebrow and looked over her outfit. She wore a strapless blue dress that looked like it belonged on the runway. "Were you wearing that earlier?"

"No, this is my evening dress, do you like it?" She ran her hand down her side and smiled sweetly at me. I stared blankly at her and her eyes ran over my outfit with poorly masked judgment, but she tactfully chose not to comment. "You're running a little low on your drink, let me take that for you."

I have to admit, I was a little impressed at how pleasant she was being, but I didn't trust it not to be an act. I'm sure she's just playing nice hostess. I traded drinks with her and she stared pointedly at me, glancing down at the glass until I finally caught on. I quickly took a sip and she smiled again and tilted her head in approval. "What'd you spike these drinks with?" I asked, only half joking. She blinked innocently at me and I gestured around the party. "I've only seen people act like this one other time in my life. Let's just say it involved a rare form of peyote. What's your secret?"

Lydia smiled tightly at me. "My parties are transcendent by design, not by psychedelic hippie drugs." She flicked her eyes over my outfit one last time before saying, "Make sure to leave your gift with the others."

And with that, she sped off to pass out more drinks. I watched for a few moments, briefly observing her and trying to find the connection between this Lydia and the Lydia that Stiles sees. The Lydia that Stiles _loves_ , and swears, hand to God, that she exists. Underneath all her layers of posturing, there's supposedly trapped a smart, sweet, misguided girl. Well… if that's true, she's yet to make an appearance to me.

The music switched off and I sighed and looked away, tossing my drink back to finish it off. I was searching for a place to dump my empty cup when the first few tinkles of piano hit my ears like a gunshot. They say when someone aims a gun at you and fires, the sound is unlike anything else. When you hear it you _know_ that the bullet going to hit you.

That's what hearing this song felt like. Gone was the chipper synth pop, abruptly replaced with the timeless notes of piano that, for me, held an entire lifetime of history. My blood ran ice cold through my veins. I completely froze—my breath caught in my throat and my eyes went wide. Some part of me wanted to rationalize it. It said, _hey_. Maybe Lydia threw in the traditional pop stylings of Frank Sinatra to jazz things up. Maybe she wanted to _throw back_ for her birthday. And that could've been true—believable, even, had it been 'New York, New York' or perhaps 'The Way You Look Tonight'—but it wasn't.

The opening piano notes of 'The Best Is Yet To Come' came through the speakers like a siren's call. I forced myself to sit up and search for Lydia—to see if she was confused by the music or if it was genuinely included in her playlist. To explain why _this_ song, of all songs, was chosen.

I found her on the other side of the pool. She seemed totally normal, as Frank Sinatra crooned about everything starting to hum and she passed a fresh drink down into the hands of one of her party guests.

She laughed at something and stood up to move on to the next person, and I felt the world fall out from under my feet.

Rex sat at one of the seats across the pool. In his hand he held the pink cup of punch Lydia had just passed him, and he sniffed at it briefly before he raised it to his lips. On instinct, I screamed out his name and reached for him as if I could physically knock the alcohol from his hands—but someone passed in front of him.

I scrambled around the side of the pool in confusion, but when the chair came back into my sight, Rex was gone. His cup rolled away from the chair, spilled onto the concrete and leaving a large wet puddle that slowly spread across the deck. I tried to search him out by scent—but all I could smell was sweat and booze. Pushing someone aside, I stumbled in front of the chair and looked down at the wet spot on the concrete. Small footprints of alcohol led deeper into the back yard, disappearing in the grass.

There were people dotted all across the yard, some lying on the grass to make out, others playing a game of volley ball or simply dancing in a huge mob.

"Rex!" I hollered, turning all around. "Rex?"

"Vannah," His small voice called from beside me. I jerked in surprise and almost fell over when I looked down to see him standing at my side. He looked up at me with his wide doe eyes—so innocent and open, and focused on my forehead as he spoke. "Where _are_ we? _"_

"What are you doing here?" I asked, glancing around in a peculiar mixture of panic and confusion that did funny things to my chest. "How did you get here?"

"Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you!"

My heart twisted and I knelt down in front of him. "What are you talking about? Where's your mom?"

"She's _not_ my mom!" He hollered, his face turning red. "She is not my mom! Stop _lying!_ Why are you lying?"

"Rex—" I tried, reaching out to him through my shock at his abrupt mood swing. He flinched away and screamed again.

"No! Don't _touch_ me! You're a liar!"

"Rex, baby, calm down—"

"You're a liar and a _murderer!_ " He screeched, his little face turning nearly purple. Everyone had turned around to watch the small child in stunned silence as he stomped his feet and pointed an angry finger at me. "You killed my daddy! You pushed him over a cliff and you never told me! You never told _anyone!_ Because that's all you do! You just lie, _all the time_ , to _everyone!_ You don't care about _anyone_ but yourself! And you _deserted_ me!"

"Rex—" I pled, crawling forward on my knees to try and grab him so I could help him calm down. "Please, just listen to me—"

"You're a _liar!_ You said family comes before friends! That's what you said to me!"

I drew in a fast breath as my memory flashed back to that afternoon in Mario's pizza place, when I told him family was more important than friends.

"But you don't love me! You never even cared about me! I know it's true!"

" _Rex_ , you don't understand—"

"I _hate_ you, Vannah! I hate you and I _never_ want to see you again!" He turned away and bolted through the crowd, knocking people out of his way in his haste. I gasped and tried to follow him, but it's like the crowd closed in where he disappeared to block my path. Furious and desperate, I felt myself abruptly shift as I roared at them to move, but as soon as I squeezed between them my ears popped and I could suddenly breath again.

Blinking rapidly, I looked around and realized, with sudden clarity, that Rex had never been here. In fact, the music was pumping again and it was the same song that had been playing before Frank Sinatra started to sing. Everyone was deliriously happy; no one was so much as looking my way. I swiped at my nose and startled when I touched my cheeks and they were wet with tears.

Frowning, I scrubbed at them with the back of my hands and grunted in frustration. I had the overwhelming sensation of having been jerked awake in the middle of a nightmare. My throat was strained like I'd been holding back sobs, and my chest was aching like something ripped my heart out and stomped on it.

A hand touched my shoulder and I snapped at them on instinct, abruptly clamping my mouth shut when I saw it was Scott.

He frowned at me and looked me over. "Savannah?" He reached out to touch my shoulder again. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I growled, shaking his hand off. "What do you want?"

"I was just coming to check if you were doing all right. Should we go?"

"What are you talking about?" I irritably grumbled, wiping at my nose again. Scott looked on in concern and gestured over his shoulder.

"If this is too much, if you need to get out of here we can go right now. I'll text Stiles and we can just go—"

"Scott," I said, rolling my eyes. "I can handle this. Okay? I'm fine. So please stop asking me."

And with that, I turned away to push through the crowd. "Wait!" Scott called, hurrying behind me to catch up. "Savannah! Hold on, I need your help!"

Stopping, I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut as he caught up to me.

"People are acting crazy," He started, and my eyes flashed over to him. He shook his head. "No, it's not that. I know they're drinking but it's—it's more than that. I thought I saw Allison and Jackson making out, but it wasn't real. And look at them!" He pointed to a couple of people who were propped against walls and on top of chairs, sitting the wrong way in them as they seemed to just sit in a daze. "We need to sober Stiles up, fast. Any ideas?"

I clenched my jaw and cleared my face, turning to Scott with a deliberately blank expression. He blinked in surprise at the sudden change and I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "Where is he?"

"I think I saw him sitting over by the pool," He pointed back to the row of pillars and waved at me to follow him. "This way, come on."

As I was following him, little flashes of Rex screaming at me would pop across my mind. Every time it happened I fought them back and told myself it wasn't real. I barely noticed when Scott stopped and ran straight into his back. He frowned at me but chose not to comment as he helped steady me, and I resisted the urge to rudely shake him off as I looked down at Stiles.

He sat against a pillar alongside the pool, his legs straight out in front of him with a completely devastated expression on his face. His eyes were unfocused as he stared forward and I reached out to snap my fingers in his face. "Stiles," I tried.

Nothing. Not even a blink.

I sighed and pushed his shoulder. "Stiles, come on."

"Hey, what are you doing?" A heavy-set, dark skinned girl interrupted. "Are you trying to sober him up like that?"

"Who are you?" I frowned, and she just looked at Stiles and then back at me.

"Want some help?"

I looked at Scott in bewilderment. He took in my expression and turned to the girl himself. "Do you have some water or something?"

"Sure do," She said, taking Stiles' by the shoulder. I lunged forward to stop her but Scott grabbed my arms and held me back as the girl dunked Stiles' head into the pool and quickly pulled him back out.

Stiles gasped like he was taking his first breath and sputtered, swiping at his dripping face and blowing water out of his nose.

"There ya go!" The girl contentedly exclaimed. "How ya feel?"

Stiles grunted and swiped at his nose. "Like I'm seriously reconsidering my don't-hit-a-girl policy," he growled, and she patted his shoulder triumphantly.

"He's sober!"

I burst out laughing and Stiles and Scott both looked at me like I'd started to speak in tongues. Taking in their expressions, hysteria rose in me as I only laughed harder. The girl frowned at me and looked me over, and I gasped for breath before I dissolved into laughter again, tears running out of my eyes.

"Why don't you dunk her?" Stiles suggested, pointing at me as he swiped his wet nose. "She's obviously not sober!"

"Boy, are you crazy?" The girl reeled back and snorted. "That's Savannah Carmichael!"

She snorted out another laugh and shook her head as she pushed off the ground and got to her feet, and I let out a slightly manic hum. "Yeah," I breathed. "Let's go."

I reached out to take Stiles by the hand, jerking him off the ground and quickly brushing myself off. He swayed dangerously on his feet and braced himself against the pillar, and I looked at his wet shirt and laughed again.

"Whatever is in that drink, it's making people go crazy," Scott said, gesturing at everyone else who took note from what we'd done and chose to expand on it as they ran to hop—fully clothed—into the pool.

"Ya think?" Stiles sarcastically quipped.

I took a relieved breath and ran a hand over my hair, quietly observing that my chest didn't hurt quite as much as it did before Stiles was dunked.

"I'm telling you, it's mushrooms."

"Lydia wouldn't put _mushrooms_ in the punch," Stiles frowned. "I mean, seriously?"

I opened my mouth to retort when suddenly, someone started screaming about not knowing how to swim. We turned to look somewhere in the crowd where the voice was coming from, and I squinted my eyes as Matt was suddenly carried out of the crowd by two delirious guys.

They forcefully dragged him to the edge of the pool, and Matt continued to frantically beg them to stop, exclaiming that he couldn't swim. The boys almost didn't seem to hear as they pushed him into the pool with a large splash.

The blue water sloshed over the edge as Matt flailed and tried to grab the edge. I watched, disturbed, as everyone seemed to look on in shock but didn't move to help him. Stiles' earlier words ran through my head— _it would explain the Kanima's fear of water_. One look at the other two boys was more than enough to tell me they were thinking the same thing.

Wordlessly, I looked back as Jackson, of all people, stepped out of the crowd and knelt by the pool. He reached down into the water and grabbed Matt's floundering arm to tug him over the edge of the pool and back onto dry land. Matt quickly stumbled to his feet and didn't even pause to thank Jackson as he staggered, sopping wet, and looked at everyone standing around with pure hatred and rage. The sort of rage that you only see on truly murderous people. The kind of hate that's cold, and completely decided.

His eyes focused on me and brief rush of adrenaline washed over me as I prepared for anything. After all, I'd not exactly been _nice_ to the guy before this incident. Matt looked away to glare at Scott, and I looked back at Stiles in disturbance.

He started towards us and I half expected him to confront us about something, but he merely focused an extremely disgusted look at Scott as he passed us and went trudging into the house.

As he sloshed away, normally I would grin in dark amusement. But Derek's voice drifted through my mind and kept me sober. _You both taught me not to underestimate someone just because they seem weak._

Suddenly, sirens erupted from the front of the house and I didn't have the time to contemplate it further. The cops must have waited to turn their sirens on until they actually pulled into the driveway—otherwise I would have heard them from a mile off, and I know Scott would have, too.

"Cops are here!" Somebody screamed, and as if someone had dropped teargas, people fled the party in manic disarray.

Not two minutes ago, they were falling over themselves drunk. But one little word is screamed out and suddenly everyone can climb hedges and hop fences.

Stiles, Scott and I followed out at a much more leisurely pace, and Stiles and I left to go retrieve the jeep.

 _Holy shit..._

* * *

 ** _In full disclosure, I had prepared to release this chapter a lot sooner. But then, you know, midterms. College. Life._**

 ** _Uh, so, yeah. Jack was Rex's father, if you didn't catch that. And one thing I did change in the story is Maria is not blood related to Savannah. She used to be her aunt, but this makes more sense if she's not because of custody reasons, but anyways, Maria is actually Rex's aunt. She's still got full custody, basically nothing has changed except Maria is not Savannah's aunt. So Rex's mom and Jack had Rex, and then something happened to both of them, and custody of Rex was passed to Maria, who is his aunt, and his mother's sister. Make sense? I hope so. It'll be explained better in later chapters._**

 ** _Shout out to_** TinyCurmudgeon **_for suggesting the scene where Savannah stole Stiles' clothes. I love cute ideas, guys! If you have any then you should definitely suggest them, I'll probably put them into a chapter._**

 ** _Thank you for all the support! Review if you have the time ;) It'll make me update faster!_**


	41. The One in Which There's Alot Of Cussing

_**I know, I know! It's been a while. But this one is extra long to make up for it :) It was originally split into two, but I combined it into one long-ish chapter to compensate for the extended wait!**_

 _ **Now, this may come as a shock to you, *Heavy sarcasm* But sometimes... I get insecure about my writing and my stories. IT'S TRUE, I know, hard to believe. So that's why this chapter took so long. Also, I recently got Fallout 4, which is amazing, and then it's still midterms... yeah. Lots of things happening for me right now. Anyways! Thank you for all the lovely support and reviews :) Enjoy! **_

* * *

We sat in Stiles' room later that night. To be honest, I felt exhausted and restless, like I needed to do something. Take a shower, maybe. Whenever I feel restless I usually have an insatiable urge to scrub my skin under hot water.

I had a bottle of apple juice in my hand and was sipping through a twisty straw as Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski, and Scott all leaned over our most recent yearbook. I mused darkly to myself that I probably wasn't in a single one of those pages except by name alone. I couldn't remember any day when someone sat me down on a stool and snapped a picture of me… then again, I don't remember a lot of stuff from last year.

"So _this_ is who you guys think is murdering people?" Sheriff dryly asked. His tone dripped with skepticism as he stood up straight and crossed his arms at Stiles and Scott.

Scott backed away as Stiles began to try and force his dad to believe us. Admittedly, we had very little physical evidence. As in… none. It was no more than a feeling, a connection—the connection that Sheriff had been blathering about for days. We already figured out the pattern, which was the swim team. What the Sheriff didn't know of was the Kanima's fear of water, or the fact that someone was controlling a demonic lizard to kill these people in the first place.

"Savannah, tell him!" Stiles pointed at me and I froze with the bright orange twisty straw between my teeth, looking at the Stilinskis like a deer in headlights. "It's Matt!"

"How can you guys _know_ Matt did anything if you don't have any proof to show me?" Sheriff asked me, and I glanced briefly at Scott, who seemed just as wary as I felt. I cleared my throat and lowered the straw from my lips.

"Because… we… detected it. Through extensive investigation and research."

Stiles smacked his forehead and I forced myself to focus on the Sheriff, who was scrunching his face at me with a dubious expression he usually saves for Stiles.

"It was all very low-key," I tried. "And it involved one of those teddy bears with a nanny-cam inside."

"You have footage?" Sheriff asked, glancing at the startled boys in the room and misreading it as surprise that I'd let the cat out of the bag. "Where is it?! We have to take this to the police!"

"We tried," I dramatically said. "But someone destroyed the evidence."

Sheriff frowned, suspicion on his face. "Is that so?"

"We found the teddy bear floating in the pool at school. The footage was useless; the water ruined it. It's Stiles' fault, he left the tape in the bear even though I specifically told him not to do that. I was afraid this might happen. The bear was found in the _pool_ , did you catch that? Coincidence?" I asked, sipping at the twisty straw. "You tell me."

"Really," Sheriff deadpanned, and I pursed my lips at him as Stiles shrugged at me in a _wtf are you doing_ fashion. "Well that's a compelling case you kids've got. I can see how seriously you're taking this—"

"It's really hard to explain how we know," Scott suddenly piped up, his tone genuine and earnest. I tried to muster up some of my usual condescending disgust that came with his Captain America level attitude, but it just wouldn't come. "You just have to trust us. We _know_ it's Matt."

"Yeah, look! It's obvious that he's trying to frame Harris! Matt knew that if a cop found Mr. Harris's tire tracks at the crime scenes and if enough of the victims were in his class, they'd arrest him!"

"Alright— _fine_." Sheriff shook his head at us and took a breath. "Let's say Matt's the killer and he's using Harris to cover his tracks. Can you tell me _why_ he's killing these people?"

I brought my thumb to my lips and paused. Sheriff had a point. Why would Matt want to murder a bunch of people who are all older than him, and happened to be on the swim team in 2006?

"Isn't it obvious?" Stiles asked, and I raised my eyebrow. "Our swim team _sucks!"_

I snorted and smirked, and Sheriff got fed up and started to turn away. Stiles quickly grabbed his arms and held him in place.

"Alright!" Stiles cried, throwing his hands in the air. "We don't have a motive. But what's Harris's?"

Sheriff glared at him but remained silent, and I perked up because that means he didn't _have_ a clear motive for Harris either!

"What do you want me to do?" Sheriff quietly asked.

Stiles' eyebrows shot up in surprise—as if he hadn't expected his dad to actually cave—and he turned to look eagerly at Scott.

"We need to look at the evidence," Scott said. I half expected the Sheriff to spout _Give the kids an inch, they take a mile_ , and even though he didn't say those _exact_ words, the meaning was basically the same.

"Oh, you mean the evidence from the station? Where I no longer _work_ ," He fixed Stiles with a particularly brutal glare, and I finally decided to stand up.

"No, trust me, they'll let you in!" Stiles persisted, and his dad grunted in barely checked frustration.

"Trust _you?"_

This was one of those moments where we all felt like we wanted to do the same thing, but at the same time, we knew that actually _doing_ it would be too obvious. Sheriff made it clear he didn't trust Stiles. But obviously, Stiles wasn't about to let it go that easily—so the obvious step is to suggest someone else to trust. That's where the _look but don't look_ part comes into play. Without doing so, everyone looked to me. Then, mentally, they asked, _Trust… her?_ And then mentally checked the, _don't touch that_ box, and moved on.

"Well, then… trust… Scott?"

"Hey!" I cried, and Stiles gestured for me to be cool as his dad wagged a finger at Scott as if he hadn't heard me.

"Scott I trust," He agreed, and I threw my hands up with a huff.

* * *

When we stepped into the police station, the first thing that stood out to me is that it was shockingly empty. Stiles and Scott were whispering about which tapes to look at first while the Sheriff preoccupied the same woman who _always_ seemed to be at the front desk.

"Hey, you know what's weird?" I whispered, frowning at the pair before me.

"What?" Scott asked.

"I mean," I glanced around the station. "Lydia's party was busted by the cops, right? I didn't hallucinate that?"

They nodded and glanced around the station in understanding. "Yeah, I wonder where everyone is at," Scott mused.

Stiles shook his head. "Usually the police like to make a big show about giving kids a ride home in the police cars and telling their parents to bring them to the station in the morning to deal with the legalities. That way their parents can ground them privately before they come in to face the music."

I hummed darkly as the Sheriff came to gather us. "Let's go before she changes her mind," He commanded more than suggested, taking me and Stiles by the shoulders to usher us along. We made quick work of infiltrating his office and gathering around the computer.

Long story short, we spotted Matt a lot faster than I thought we would. Years of movies and television prepared me for hours upon hours of combing fruitless footage, monotonous stakeouts, and sugar-induced comas from too many donuts. The reality was a few loading screens, lots of rewinding and pausing, zooming and buffering, and finally, the unmistakable leather-clad back of Matt Daehler veering through a heavy-stream of hospital foot-traffic.

It turns out Scott's mom spoke to Matt directly. Not only that, but she _remembers_ talking to him. The boys considered the need to find a witness frustrating, like the actual legal process of apprehending criminals was slow and redundant. I considered the fact that not only did a nurse stop to speak to Matt—but that nurse was Scott's _mom_ —nothing short of a miracle. I was so hyped when Melissa recollected her annoyance at the fact that Matt had dragged mud through the freakin' halls that I clapped Sheriff on the back in triumph.

Sheriff told Scott to ask Melissa to stop by the station when her shift was over so we could get an official statement from her, and from that, we could finally get an arrest warrant on Matt. The warrant should also allow us to match his boot prints to the prints found at _four_ crime scenes.

By the time Sheriff asked Stiles to go tell the front desk woman (I should learn her name) to let Melissa in when she showed up, I really felt that things were looking up. Even with the weight of the party's events weighing me down, I couldn't deny the relief and victory that came from all of this.

"You know, I'm not sure that I've seen you smile for this long without teasing someone first," Sheriff suddenly observed, shocking the smile right off my face.

It returned to its resting sneer and I crossed my arms. "Must have been the apple juice. Speaking of which, where's the restroom in this place?"

"It's just past the front desk," He said, and I saluted him before pushing into the hall. I whistled absently to myself, my hands in my pockets as I thought back to Rex's tiny form just before it all went wrong. The way he'd looked up at my in imploring confusion, wondering where we were? How'd he get here? Just before it all went to shit. I couldn't get his voice out of my mind.

Stiles stood beside the front desk. "Hey, Stiles, you wanna help me out?" I reached for his shoulder but came up short and looked back at the desk with a frown. "Where'd the chick go?"

And then it hit me. Suddenly, things were jumping out at me like I'd been seeing the whole station in black-and-white for the past forty minutes and someone unexpectedly turned the colors back on. I don't know if it was because I'd suppressed my senses and instincts because of the full moon, or maybe it was even worse because I'd bottled my emotions up from the hallucination. It might have even been that I've wanted to feel hope for so long now, once it came along, I clung to it blindly and without question. And it cost us all dearly.

I can see that now. The empty space behind the desk abruptly shifted from curious to ominous, and whatever version of myself that was at the wheel of my mind quickly fell away. Back at the wheel was the perpetually angry, bitter Savannah of old, and she saw _everything_.

She saw the way Stiles' back muscles were coiled tighter than a violin's strings, ready to snap at any moment. She saw the body of the woman police officer lying in the floor of the station, the tan uniform stained with violently crimson splotches. The belt of the uniform was crooked, turned the wrong way. The holster had been opened, and was empty, the gun missing. The old Savannah was back, and she heard the click of metal shifting, the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked and ready to fire. The smell of gunpowder and—something deeper. Something sweeter, more potent, and distinctly human. The smell of desperation.

And she was me, and I was her. And I felt my heart harden again as she swallowed me, and I turned and saw Matt pointing a gun directly at Stiles' head, his eyes misted and jaw clenched just as tightly as his hands.

And then his eyebrows lifted and he _shrugged_ after he saw us take in the disaster he left behind the counter, like it wasn't his fault. Like it said all he needed to say and more, and the gun never trembled.

He focused his gaze on me and shook the gun purposefully in Stiles' direction. "Don't be stupid, Savannah," Matt's voice was tight and trembling, like the skin of a drum pulled too tightly over the top. "I'll shoot him."

I looked him over. Matt Daehler, the same age as me. Wearing a black, grey, and white striped shirt, with tight black jeans and black boots. Short brown hair and blue eyes. Eyes that sang with emotion. The sort of emotion that's difficult to recognize if you haven't known it yourself. But I _have_.

It's the kind of desperation and hate that only a completely shattered soul can recognize. It's the complete and total loss of faith in humanity—the complete _void_ of sympathy. The cold neglect that freezes a person's heart to the point of breaking. Too many cheeks turned the other way. Too many _lies_. _So_ many lies; lies people told to you to try and justify a horrible accident. And lies to yourself, to try and rationalize your pain, and growing hatred.

This sort of tragedy never ends well for an underdeveloped mind. We're kids, and kids deal with tragedies poorly. I _know_ his pain. It drove me to killing my brother. The grief, it's too much. I'm not sure what Matt is grieving, but I know one thing. Somewhere along the way he lost himself, too. That's what he told Stiles, after all. _They killed me_ , he'd said at the rave. He felt that he's been murdered, that his life has been stolen from him somehow. And right now the only thing that makes sense to a heart that knows this hate is vengeance.

I can see it in his eyes. Even if I _couldn't_ see his eyes, I'd know it by the dead bodies that surely littered this station. That's why I looked at the gun aiming at Stiles head and I _knew_ , with a certainty that drew my shoulders back and my chin up, I knew that Matt wouldn't leave here without trying to hurt as many people as he possibly could.

"Matt," I said, trying to will myself not to shift.

He became enraged when I didn't immediately comply with him, shaking the gun viciously and rushing closer to Stiles. "I _said_ I'll shoot him!"

I snarled at him and started forward, no more than three feet away from him. My fingertips burned as I physically forced myself to stop before I could lunge at him. Matt instantly turned the gun to me and fired without hesitation.

Stiles shouted out in surprise as the gunshot echoed through the small entrance, and I felt the sharp heat erupt in my leg. At first, it didn't even register as pain. I could only feel the abrupt and explosive impact of the meat in my leg being blasted apart.

There was no scream that came from my lips as I was knocked to the ground, catching myself with my hands at the last moment. Stiles started to rush towards me but Matt thickly ordered him to stay put, and he skidded to a halt and seemed torn between wanting to get to me and not wanting to give Matt a reason to snap off another shot.

I gasped as pain slowly began to ebb through the hot, burning, stinging, aching hole in my knee. " _Bastard_ ," I snarled out, my rumbling voice not my own.

"I _told_ you! Don't _fucking_ _MOVE!"_ Matt bellowed, almost as if he was losing control of the situation.

"O-Okay!" Stiles tried to reassure, making a frantic calming gesture to him. "Just _stop_ shooting! We'll do what you want! Just—stop!"

"Fuck that," I gasped, pulling my leg up to look at it. I plopped my butt on the ground as Matt told Stiles to go to the Sheriff's office. He pointed the gun down at me and told me to get up. A bitter laugh tore through my teeth. "Go to hell," I snapped without looking away from my leg. With trembling hands, I reached a clawed finger down to the bullet wound and grit my teeth together.

"Do you want another bullet, Carmichael?" He lowly threatened, and Stiles quickly tried to placate him.

It seemed that my flesh was already trying to heal and I worked to ignore the pair of them as I lowered a clawed finger down to the burning, bleeding hole in my knee, and grunted once before taking the plunge. They grew quiet as I dug my fingers into the bullet wound and strained back a growling whimper as I dug through the raw flesh with my fingers.

My head grew light and my vision swam slightly from the pain, but I kept pushing farther down into the tight, bloody hole until I hit metal. Pinching my fingers together in my slick blood, I grasped the bullet and pulled it out.

I looked up to see Matt and Stiles both gawking at me in complete disgust, and I flicked the bloodied bullet at Matt's face. He stumbled back and swatted at the thing as it knocked him in the nose, my blood smearing across his face and working to make him look officially _unhinged_. He quickly aimed the gun down at me again in rage.

I was breathing through my snort and my pain as I pushed myself off the floor. Matt abruptly turned the gun onto Stiles, and I froze.

"Yeah," Matt cruelly taunted me. "Not such a _tough bitch_ now, are ya? I don't think his head will take so well to a bullet, do _you?"_

"Fuck off," I spat, only _barely_ keeping my claws from lunging for the jugular in his neck. Stiles and I realized the full gravity of the situation, with my bloodied leg, and the dead body lying behind the counter. Matt wasn't out of bullets yet, and he's right. I might heal from that shot, and I might even be able to extract the bullet without passing out, but that doesn't mean Stiles or Sheriff would recover quite so gracefully. "Lead the way to the office, you fucking psychopath."

Matt pushed at Stiles' shoulder with the tip of the gun, giving him a rough shove towards the hall. "Now," He growled, and Stiles gestured at me helplessly.

"Man, c'mon," He pled, his eyes seeming pained as he looked at the blood that now coated me. "You _shot_ her, she can't even walk! Just let me—"

" _Go!"_ Matt all but stomped his foot and I ducked my chin and looked at Stiles with a clenched jaw, giving him a single nod of my head.

Stiles pressed his lips together in an unhappy sigh, but he put his hands up. He cast me one last worried glance before turning to lead the way down the hall.

I grit my teeth and tried not to focus on the quickly throbbing pain radiating through my leg as I used the wall to help propel myself up. It's a strategy I hadn't used for well over a month now. It felt like so much longer than that, but it's true. It'd only been about a month since my leg was still injured, and still, using surrounding objects as makeshift crutches felt like a second nature to me. Like riding a bike, as they say.

Slowly, I dragged myself behind them. Matt would glance over his shoulder at me every so often, just to be sure I wasn't _trying anything fancy_ , I assume. I flipped him the bird just as we reached the room, and Matt waved the gun at me to hurry it along.

"Let's go," He demanded, and I spit at his shoes as he shoved me into the room.

I stumbled inside and almost swan-dived nose first into the floor, but Stiles caught me under my arms and hauled me up.

"Savannah!" Scott cried, rushing forward to help me.

"Savannah! What the hell happened?" Sheriff demanded, and they both came up short when they saw Matt finally following us in. "Whoa—whoa," Sheriff said, his voice dropping an octave as he visibly worked to gain control of the situation. He put his hands up and made calming gestures to us all. "Hey—everyone, let's just calm down."

I grunted as Stiles and I resituated so that I was leaning on him, and I worked hard not to let too many sounds of discomfort pass my lips. My leg ached and burned like a motherfucker, and I felt my vision swimming. If it weren't for Stiles at my side, I definitely would have collapsed in a nearby chair by now. He pulled me tightly to his side and brandished Matt with a deploring gaze.

"Come on—Matt, is it?" Sheriff continued. "Whatever it is you want, there's gotta be a way to get it without using guns. Now, I know you don't want to hurt anyone else—"

"Actually," Matt condescendingly snorted, waving his gun haphazardly like it was simply his toy and he was king of the playground, "That's not entirely accurate. I _do_ have people I want to hurt. A _lot_ , actually. And, honestly, you three weren't on my list," He gestured to me. "But it's not hard to persuade me, is it Savannah?"

"Keep talkin'," I snarled, causing Stiles to tighten his grip on me and silently beg me to shut up. "We'll see who's more dangerous."

Matt laughed and paused as he caught Scott trying to use his phone. "See _that_ —that is a great way to get yourself on my list, McCall!" He waved his gun towards the next. "Everyone, put your cellphones on the desk."

Being as that was a very bad idea for us to do, no one made a move, and he exploded. " _Now!"_

Stiles shifted as he grabbed his phone out of his back pocket and passed it into my hand to chuck onto the desk.

"You too, Carmichael." He said, pointing the gun at me.

"Fuck off," I breathed, and he turned the gun onto Stiles.

"I said _now!_ Do you want him to die?"

"I don't _have_ one, you fucking asshole!"

Matt sneered and waved his gun dismissively at me. "Okay, sure, put your fucking phone on the desk. Don't make me ask you again."

"What do you want?" I snapped, reaching down to turn my pockets inside-out. "You want one of them to try to call me? You wanna check their phones? I don't _have_ one, jack ass!"

Matt looked at Sheriff first, apparently deeming him the most upfront and honest one in the room. When Sheriff only stared at him with his hands up and ever so slightly tilted his face, Matt snorted disbelievingly.

"What kind of sad loser doesn't have a freakin' cell phone?" He sneered, and I felt my grip tighten and my fangs _beg_ to come out. I ducked my head to hide my eyes from the Sheriff, and Matt snickered cruelly, mistaking the gesture for shame. Stiles pressed a comforting hand into my side and pulled me closer as he scowled at Matt.

"Alright, let's go," He gestured all of us out the door. "Everyone out, right now!"

"Savannah—" Sheriff started, his eyes fixed on my legs, but Matt cut him off.

"Are you _deaf?_ I said now!"

"She's injured!" Sheriff cut back just as viciously, and I was careful to keep my face blank as Matt snapped back that it would heal. Sheriff scrunched his face incredulously and shook his head. " _Heal?"_

Matt blinked at him and the rage slowly bled from his face, replaced with shock.

"It's—that—that'll take months," Sheriff stammered, shaking his head as if baffled that someone could be so dismissive. "You _know_ she just recovered from a handicap!"

Matt snorted bitterly and barked out a humorless laugh for emphasis, pointing the gun straight at me. "He has _no_ idea, does he?"

Sheriff grew quiet as he looked between Matt and me in confusion. I struggled to keep my expression neutral as I fixed Matt with a death glare. "Savannah?"

"Wow," Matt snorted, shaking his head as he waved the gun again. "This just gets better and better, doesn't it? Whatever! Come on, I said _move_ it!"

He marshaled us out of the room and down the hall to where the holding cells were.

When we got into the room, Stiles quickly helped lower me onto the nearest bench. I sat with a sigh and took a quick moment to glance down at my knee. All I could really see was blood, and it still stung like a bitch, so it was hard to really tell what was happening to it.

Matt ordered the Sheriff to sit next to me. Confused, he settled beside me and tried to give me a reassuring nod. His face betrayed little doubt as he fixed me with his elder blue eyes and nodded once. It was like he'd grabbed my hand and told me it would be alright, and I felt myself soften slightly despite the situation. Inexplicably, I felt guilt. Guilt that the sheriff had been involved in any of this. Guilt that we had pushed him so hard to take us here tonight.

"Both of you: put your hands against the rail."

I snorted defiantly, but Sheriff gave me a disapproving shake of his head. I gawked at him and he shook his head again. Stiffly, I clenched my jaw and raised my hand to the small rail that jutted from the wall. It was a small hoop of metal that was welded to the wall; clearly placed there to cuff someone to this spot.

Stiles took the cuffs from Matt's hands and tucked it through the hoop, securing one cuff to my wrist, and the other to Sheriff's.

I wanted to ask why the heck I was being cuffed, but something told me either I would be met with petty silence or shot again, so I kept my mouth shut.

As soon as Matt led the other two out of the room, Sheriff flooded me with questions. What happened? Why am I shot? How did I get shot? What does Matt want? Did he say anything? Is he alone? Did he shoot anyone else? Is somebody else dead? Am I okay?

Most importantly, it seemed, _am I okay?_

I shook my head with my jaw tight. "I'll be fine." I ground out. "It's the other two that I'm worried about. Why didn't he take me?"

"You're already injured," Sheriff nodded. "He's hurt you enough."

I fixed Sheriff with a sad smile and shook my head at him. "You really are too good for this town."

He frowned at me and opened his mouth to ask me something, but I gasped in sudden pain. "What?" Sheriff asked, leaning closer to look at my knee. "What's wrong—Oh, Jesus," He quickly turned away and took a moment to swallow the bile that rose in his throat. "That's—that looks painful, Savannah."

"It's fine," I dismissed, using my free hand to gently prod at the healing skin. The blood still stained my jeans. If I kept it covered, it looked like I was still injured. The bullet-wound was not healed, but it wasn't hamburger-meat either. It wasn't numb, or white-hot pain, but a dull ache like someone had rammed a piping javelin through my leg two weeks ago. Still warm, painful to move, and swollen—but healing. Some of the skin around where the bullet entered had been burnt to a crisp. In the movies, they rarely talk about the bits of gunpowder that burn the flesh around the bullet hole.

The reality of a gunshot is a lot more gruesome than Hollywood would have you believe, and the natural healing process is probably very disgusting. So the wound's _supernatural_ healing progress is _fucking_ disgusting—my skin was literally starting to shed to make way for clean, fresh flesh—especially the spots that had been burnt. That would be difficult to explain, to say the least, so I covered it with what was left of the bloodied fabric of my jeans and turned it away. "It looks worse than it is."

"I doubt that! You need a hospital."

"Sure," I bitterly mused. "Let's just go, then."

"That's not helping." Sheriff muttered.

"Seriously—why would he cuff me here with you?" I absently grunted, leaning forward to try and get a glimpse of the hallway. "What's he doing with them?"

"You're injured, Savannah. It makes sense." Sheriff tried, and I shook my head absently. He sighed and paused for a moment before asking, much quieter, "Is there something I need to know?"

I frowned and looked back at him.

"Back in my office, Matt said I don't know something about your limp."

I leaned forward to look in the hallway so I wouldn't have to face him wen I lied. "What do you think he wants?"

"Stop changing the subject!" Sheriff frowned. "If I need—if there's something else about what caused you to get injured—I need to know."

"You know what happened, Matt shot—"

"Not _that_ injury, Savannah." Sheriff's eyes were sad and serious as I looked back at him. "You've never been able to tell us much about what happened that night. Is there something else you need to tell me? Something to help me find your brother?"

"What?" I frowned, and then paused as I looked away, my face changing to confusion. "Wait…." Sheriff hung on my every expression, my every word. "Do you hear that?"

He frowned and straightened. Before he could say anything, I whipped around to stare out into the hall.

I strained my ears, listening as something hit the floor—a body?—and a door closed. "Someone's here."

"What?" Sheriff frowned, starting to get up before our wrists caught and he was jerked back to the bench. "Where? Who? How do you know?"

"Shhhh," I hissed, frowning and squeezing my eyes shut as I strained my ears.

"Savannah—"

" _Oh, I don't know, Derek! I think you two make a pretty good pair._ "

Matt's voice was taunting, and the sneer was clear in his tone. He was enjoying this. A _lot_. It's different than it was for me, because for me, I hated every second of that night. I just wanted it all to stop. For Matt? It seems that he's been waiting for this for a long time.

 _"It must kinda suck though… to have all that power taken from you with just a little cut to the back of the neck. I bet you're not used to feeling this helpless."_ I sat up and sniffed in surprise. Derek is not only _here_ …. He's been paralyzed? If that's true, the Kanima is here!

"Well, shit!" I snapped, and Sheriff perked up.

"What? What's going on?"

" _Is that her!?"_ Matt asked in a tone that, under any other circumstances, would suggest taunting excitement. Well, I guess it's taunting excitement under these circumstances, too. He's just a fucked up little boy…

I was a bit confused as to what he meant, but then it hit me when I heard Matt tell someone to _do as he says and she won't get hurt_ , and then Stiles' muffled voice called out to Scott and warned him not to trust Matt.

It clicked into place. First, I thought Allison, but then I realized Scott had called his mom to come here for that witness statement and I panicked.

"No!" I gasped, leaping off the bench and trying to run into the hallway. I was immediately yanked back by the cuffs. I growled in frustration as the sheriff tried to get me to tell him what was happening, and I tugged against the cuffs on instinct.

"Savannah— _talk_ to me!"

I froze and realized what I was doing. I can't break the fucking cuffs! Sheriff can't see that! I looked back at him and hesitated at his distressed expression. Venting out a sigh, I paused. "I-It's Scott's mom," I said, and Sheriff's face abruptly changed to dread. "She's here."

"Damn it! We _never_ should have called her," He shook his head and angrily tugged the handcuffs. " _Damn it!"_

"Come on, Sheriff!" I snapped, restlessly shifting on the bench. "There's gotta be something you can do! What can we do? This thing," I rattled the cuffs irritably as I spoke for emphasis. "Has. To have." Rattle, rattle, rattle, "A _weakness!_ "

"It doesn't!" Sheriff snapped back. "That's the _point!"_

I let out a loud growl of frustration and smacked the wall hard enough to leave a bit of a dent. I froze and Sheriff looked at the broken plaster in shock, slowly turning his eyes to me. I opened my mouth, but before I could say anything a gunshot rang out through the station, followed by a distinctly feminine scream.

We whirled around and screamed Scott's name in unison. Instinctively, I shifted and let out a loud snarl, and Sheriff's hand grabbed my shoulder to try and restrain me as I bolted towards the door, yanked back again.

"Savannah, stop it!" He insisted, trying to turn me around. "You're just making it worse!"

I realized he was talking about my injury, but he hit the nail on the head with that one, because I'd shifted and my fangs were out as I struggled to control myself.

"Savannah, you're seriously hurt, do you understand what that means?" Sheriff said, trying to turn me around again. I jerked my shoulder out from under his hand with a snarl and ducked my head. He read it as frustrated rejection, but I was truly trying to protect him. He couldn't see my face—not like this. "You can't get out of these cuffs! You're only making it worse!"

At that moment, Melissa came stumbling through the door in bright colored nursing scrubs. Her face was tortured and streaked with tears, and she gasped as she took in the sight of Sheriff and I cuffed to the wall. Her eyes immediately dropped to my bloodied leg and she let out a miserable cry, immediately apologizing to me for some reason. I was closest to the door, and I leaned around her to try and see Scott as Sheriff tried to gently reassure her.

Scott came in next, hunched over slightly. I smelled the blood before I saw it—but it was impossible to miss the huge splotch of red that pooled on his green shirt.

He stumbled towards me and I lifted out of my seat to try and grab him, but Matt screeched out an order for me to sit back down.

"Go to hell!" I snapped, helping Scott to lean against the wall.

Matt aimed the gun straight at Melissa. "Now is a _good_ time to be _listening_ to me, Savannah!"

"Please," Melissa sobbed, her trembling hands covering her mouth as she shook her head. "Stop this, please!"

Matt simply told her to shut up and get in the cell. I blinked in surprise and Scott started to protest, but Matt shook the gun violently and screamed for her to do what he said.

Melissa reluctantly stepped into the cell, all the while watching Scott as he leaned on the wall next to me. "Please," She begged. "You have to let me help him! He's _dying_ , please—"

"You think so?" Matt sarcastically whispered at her from outside the cell as he stepped away.

Sheriff leapt up in rage and jabbed a furious finger at Matt, " _HEY_ , hey, you _listen_ to me—"

"It's all right!" Scott interrupted, his voice surprisingly strong for someone who was just shot in the chest. "I'm okay."

I reached up and touched his side in reassurance, and he nodded down at me as his mom miserably informed Scott he was in fact _not_ okay. "You were just shot," She said, her voice strained with emotion.

"It's okay, it—it doesn't even hurt, mom." Scott insisted.

"'Cause that's the adrenaline," Melissa hysterically nodded as she turned to look at Matt. "Please, just—just let met take a look at him, okay, I can help stop the bleeding—"

"They have no _idea_ do they?" Matt madly cried, turning to give me and Scott an extremely manic laugh. Melissa continued to beg him and he whirled on his heels to bellow for her to shut up. "Shut up, shut up, shut _up_ _shut up!"_

The room grew deadly quiet as Matt paced twitchingly in front of the cell. "Matt," I said, my voice low and calm. He whirled on me with the gun out and I held my hand up as everyone let out a cry of desperation. " _Matt_ —just hold on! Just—wait for a second!"

"What?" He hysterically ground out, his voice strangled. "What, what is it?"

"Hey, I—I get it," I lowly said, my chin tucked as I nodded at him. "It's okay, I do."

He sneered in disbelief and lowered the gun for a moment, stepping closer to me so he could scream in my face. " _No!_ You don't! None of you—"

My hand flashed out and I grabbed his wrist, jerking him towards me as hard as I could. Standing from the bench, I threw him to the floor and immediately pinned him with my foot to his chest, pushing down as hard as I dared—until his face turned red and his eyes watered. The gun had fallen out of his grasp, and slid just out of his reach.

"Shut the fuck up," I quietly snarled over everyone's sudden yelling of shock and warning, leaning down to get in his face. "Just _shut_. The _fuck_. _Up!_ "

One of his hands desperately clawed at my boot, the other stretched out across the floor as his fingers were frantically twitching for the gun. His control of the situation was laying a mere three inches out of his reach, and he was struggling to even breathe. Pure panic seized his features and I wanted nothing more than to kick the fucking gun away—but I was still cuffed to the wall. I couldn't reach it even if I tried, unless I broke the cuffs, which would be hard to explain.

For a moment, Matt was incapacitated. I pushed down a little harder, until I felt a rib pop under my boot, and grinned sadistically when he arched his back and his mouth opened widely in pain. This all happened in the span of seven seconds, and Scott was understandably slower to react than usual.

I looked away to yell at Scott to get the gun, and that was my first mistake. Matt abruptly released his grip on my boot and reached over to jam his fingers into my bullet wound.

I screamed through my teeth and my vision went black for a moment as he desperately clawed my wound with all he had, and my body forced me to jerk away. It was a reflex—instinct that I couldn't control—but it was enough. Just enough for Matt to stretch a _little_ further and grab hold of the gun.

He snatched the gun up and quickly turned it towards the cell where Melissa was, the crack echoing harshly over the small room.

Melissa ducked unconsciously, accidentally smacking her head into the bars of the holding cell. Way to her left, the ceramic sink exploded when the bullet missed her entirely and hit it. Someone tugged me off of Matt and I swiped at Matt as Scott and Melissa both screamed in panic.

There was maybe a breath of time when no one dared to move a muscle, quickly assessing the damage. Matt was still on the floor, the gun still blindly pointed toward the cell. The white ceramic sink was shattered on the ground. Melissa clutched her head and we all seemed to hold our breath as Sheriff had me gripped around the waist and tugged off of Matt.

Scott was looming over Matt, hand still reaching where the gun had lain just before it was reclaimed by Matt, and he jerked back in surprise when Matt—sputtering and grumbling nonsensical slurs, pushed himself off the floor and properly aimed the gun on Melissa.

It was that fact—the fact that the gun was trained on Melissa, and that fact alone, that kept me from shoving the boy back onto the ground. And he knew that. It's why he was pointing it at her.

His voice was rough and scratchy as he looked at me in pure hatred. "Knock her out," He grumbled, rubbing his chest without looking away from me. The silence stretched because none of us had a clue what he meant. "I said, _knock_ her the fuck out!"

"What?" Sheriff incredulously frowned.

Matt cocked the gun, the tip pointed straight at Melissa's chest. "Scott! _Bash_ her _fucking_ head into the wall and _knock her out!"_

Scott looked between us in horror, shaking his head solemnly. "No," His voice was strained and he looked completely miserable as he stared at me with his bloodied hands up. "No!"

"Do it!" Matt screeched, rushing forward to aim the gun directly between Melissa's eyes, even as she jerked away.

I shook my head at the Sheriff to stop him before he could speak. He frowned at me and I nodded, my eyes on the gun that was aimed at Melissa's forehead. "Do it," I said to Scott, and Sheriff's eyes were wide with shock. All I could hear in the room were the frantically beating hearts, my knee burning with pain as I nodded roughly at Scott. "It's okay. Do what he says before he shoots your mom, too."

Scott looked back at Matt and slowly shut his mouth, his jaw clenching. He looked back to me and sadly shook his head. "I'm sorry."

He pressed his hand to the back of my head and shook his head one last time. "I'm sorry," He repeated, and I squeezed my eyes shut as he bashed my skull against the plaster wall and a sharp pain erupted in my head before everything went black.

* * *

My head swam. It throbbed, and my face was strangely numb, like the top of my forehead. I puffed out a breath through my lips and blinked rapidly, keeping still as I got my bearings. The room was dark. I blinked more and struggled to clear my blurry vision.

The smell of sweet, acrid smoke hit my nostrils. It burned slightly and made it taxing to breathe. The events of the night came flooding back to me—the station. The dead police officer. Matt, hysterical but calculating, with the gun. My gunshot wound. Melissa. Scott, wounded, forced to knock me out.

I tugged my hands towards me and one of them was caught, and I suddenly remembered the cuff. It was attached to Sheriff's hand. Sheriff lay unconscious on the floor next to me, his back to me, his legs strewn across mine. I clenched my teeth in pain as the weight of his legs pressed harshly against my wounded knee. It wasn't nearly as bad as it had been—but still, it was enough to make me grit my teeth.

The voices above me slowly started to make sense. Melissa, begging Matt to let her out of the cell.

Silently, slowly, I grabbed the chain between the cuffs and gave it a sharp tug. It snapped like I was tearing the plastic from a straw. Disposing of the cuff was easy from there.

"My son's been shot, and I've heard other gunfire, and I don't know what's happening but can you _please_ just let me see my son," Melissa pled, her voice thick with tears. I frowned at this new information. _Other_ gunfire. It might explain the darkness.

I slowly put my hands beneath me and prepared to push off the ground.

"How— _totally_ clueless are you people?" Matt asked in jagged amusement. My heart raced and vengeance rose in my throat as I sprang to my feet and seized the opportunity.

Taking Matt by the back of the head, I slammed his forehead into the metal bars and Melissa yelped in surprise as he unexpectedly collapsed on the floor.

I spat on his limp form and snarled, my back to the cell. "Fucking prick," I growled, my voice gravelly. It struck me then that my body had shifted in an effort to speed the healing process along. Between my gunshot and the head trauma Scott had surely given me from knocking me out, it's no wonder.

The rumble of a low growl caught my attention. My head snapped up and I froze as I caught the sight of two glowing red eyes and someone's black silhouette in the doorway.

 _Derek?_

I opened my mouth to warn to him when he stepped out of the shadows and into the light in clear sight of Melissa. My heart jumped in my throat as I stepped to the side and tried to block her from seeing Derek's shifted form—but there's almost no way she didn't see him. Her audible gasp was enough to confirm that much. I was about to snap at Derek when a hiss caught both of our attention.

Off to the side of the room, coming in from a separate doorway, the Kanima crouched. There was no way Melissa didn't see _that,_ either, since I currently blocked her sight of Derek and the Kanima crouched about six feet in the opposite corner of the room.

"Shit," I muttered. The Kanima let out a shrieking roar and Derek bellowed after it, and I backed up to the cell and tried to stretch as far as I could to block Melissa from all of it.

She grabbed my shoulder and panicked as she told me to get down. I shook my head and watched as Derek and the Kanima threw each other around the room, and something in the corner of the hallway caught my eye.

Movement. I saw a pale, familiar arm stretched across the floor, as someone slowly tried to retreat into the hallway.

 _Stiles!_ My heart leapt into my throat and I gasped and ducked under the Kanima as it leapt off a wall and sprang for Derek. If I wasn't currently panicking over Stiles, it might have been funny, the way I casually ducked through a vicious fight involving two mythical creatures. Melissa yelped in surprise again when I quickly sprang across the room, and the Kanima started to turn its attention to me, but Derek grabbed it by its arm and threw it into a wall.

"Stiles," I breathed, blinking through my red-tinted vision to find him lying in the hall. I held my breath as I took in his crumpled form, and for a split second, I feared the worst.

His head lifted and he strained to look at me, his face red with effort and eyes watering from something. Fear? Anger? "My dad," He grunted. "Where is he?"

"He—he's—" I turned back to the room and froze upon seeing the Kanima crawling across the bars of Melissa's cell.

I started forward and let out a grunt of surprise as something blasted past me. A bright green shirt streaked through my vision as Scott popped out of nowhere to bull rush the Kanima, and dove claws first into its back, tearing it off the cell and tossing it to the floor like a rag doll.

Scott fell to his knees, his head ducked but body facing the hall where I stood.

"Scott—" Melissa desperately sobbed. "Scott—are you okay?"

I blinked and stepped further into the shadows, ducking my head and hiding under my hair so she couldn't see my eyes. I knelt protectively over Stiles as Scott slowly raised his head. His eyes locked with mine and I frowned at the expression on his face.

Before I could do anything, Scott turned his face ever so slightly. "Scott," I panicked. " _Don't!_ "

He turned around to look at his mom, his face fully-shifted, and she breathed out in shock. Slowly, he rose to his full height and turned to, shockingly, reveal his werewolf form to her.

I wanted to scream at him, to ask him what the _hell_ he was doing. But this was obviously meant to be a private moment between son-and-mother, and furthermore, it was his secret to tell. Not mine. I watched in fascination as Melissa shook her head and stifled a sob, covering her mouth with a shaking hand as she took in her son's abnormal form.

"No, no, no," She squeaked out, her voice barely louder than a whisper and strained with tears. I felt my heart squeeze and instinctively reached for Stiles' shoulder as Scott's mom full-on-panicked at the sight of her own son's face.

I looked down at Stiles sadly, and he pushed himself over so his face was to the ceiling. Huffing quickly, he grunted and tried to push himself up, and I took him by the shoulders and helped him to sit up. He dragged himself back against the wall and looked over me, the struggle draining from his face but his frown remaining.

Stiles' eyes focused intently over my face as he tried to lift his hand to touch something, and I self-consciously touched my cheek. It was wet. Frowning, I touched it again and looked down. Blood smeared my fingers.

Before I could do anything else, Scott suddenly bolted past me down the hall.

"Scott!" I called, getting to my feet. My knee only dully ached as I watched him disappear around the corner to apparently run from his mom's reaction. "Scott! _Wait!_ "

I chased him around the corner and skidded to a halt when I spotted Gerard standing in the hall. More importantly, I saw Scott whispering furiously to him. "I've done— _everything_ —that you've asked of me." He said, and I came up short in confusion. I frowned in shock as he continued. "I'm part of Derek's pack, I've given you all the information you want, I told you Matt was controlling Jackson, and—"

"Then _leave_ him to us." Gerard quietly encouraged, taking Scott by the shoulders, and I stepped back in disbelief. "Help your friends! Leave Matt and Jackson to me… Deal with your mother. _Go_."

Confusion was the strongest emotion that flooded me. Confusion, followed by tentative betrayal, followed by panic. And then more confusion. So much confusion, as Scott actually started to leave. Gerard stepped out from behind Scott and spotted me.

"Scott," He called, his eyes trained knowingly on me. He took in the sight of all the blood covering me, and Scott whirled around and spotted me as well, his face changing to alarm. "Your friend seems to need a little assistance."

I stared at Gerard in quiet disbelief as Scott looked at me like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Savannah—" He started and I held my hand out to stop him. "Wait! I can explain!"

"There's time for that later, right now, you both need to go!" Gerard had his gaze fixed solely on me, and I threw him a dirty look that he ignored. "Before the cavalry arrives! Go!"

 _The cavalry? Who talks like that?_

"Savannah, I'm sorry! Just—come on! Okay? I'll tell you everything!"

I looked back at Gerard and considered what my options were. Go try to fight off Gerard from something I didn't even understand? Or go yell at Scott for lying to me?

I shook my head and turned away from both of them, rushing down the hall to find Stiles. He was still propped against the wall.

"Where's Scott?" Stiles asked as I reached down to grab him under his arms. "What about Melissa? Wait—Savannah!"

I stood up and tossed him over my shoulder, fireman style, and he grunted uncomfortably.

"This is very emasculating," He wheezed, and I snorted in spite of the situation.

"Shut up," I retorted, and his hand limply batted at my thigh as I quickly made my way through the hall and back to the entrance.

"Savannah, is this really necessary—"

"You know most people would say thank you," I panted, pausing to take a breath before kicking the front doors open.

"Ah," Stiles timidly grunted as he swayed precariously on my shoulders. "Don't _drop_ me!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," I dryly teased, reaching up to pat his ass and earning a loud yelp of surprise.

"H-Hey!" He squawked. "Hands off!"

A purely giddy laugh, and maybe slightly hysterical, tore through my strained throat for the first time in _hours_ as I carried him into the parking lot. It felt so good to laugh, I could scarcely keep the grin off my face, and the temptation to do it again was so great I had to squeeze his calf to keep my hand from moving. He grumbled at me as I finally reached his jeep and deposited him safely on the ground.

"Next time, I get to carry you heroically from the building," Stiles muttered, his face bright red as I still leaned over him and grinned broadly down at him, and, without thinking, I turned my head and kissed his cheek.

He froze and his eyes were ready to pop out of his head as he gawked up at me, and even though I was just as stunned, I powered through it. "Deal," I quickly blurted, and then I _booked_ it the fuck out of there.

Inside the station, without Stiles over my shoulders, it was a lot easier to concentrate. The air was still slightly smoky. It was difficult to smell much past blood, gunpowder, and whatever fumes were inside the smoke grenades the Argents threw into the building.

I was struggling not to panic over what I'd just done to Stiles when Scott came out of the holding cells with Melissa tagging closely behind, Sheriff flung over his shoulders much as Stiles had been flung over mine.

When he saw me he came to an abrupt halt and watched me with a guarded expression.

I glanced back at Melissa and then at the Sheriff, and before Scott could utter a single word, I turned to go hold the doors open for him.

He watched me with desperate eyes and told his mom to go get the car started.

When she passed me, Melissa paused to reach her hand out and touch my shoulder. Just before she did, she stopped and withdrew her hand. She looked at me diffidently—like somehow, she knew what I was even though I had been careful not to show my face to her. "Thank you," She finally said, and I simply stared at her as she ducked outside and hurried towards her car.

I didn't even look Scott in the face as he carried Sheriff's limp form up to me.

"Savannah," He started, and I pointed out to the jeep. He clamped his mouth shut and watched me for a beat longer before finally turning away, his shoulders and head slumped as he went outside.

When I had gotten outside, the ambulances and policemen had arrived on scene.

"The cavalry is here," I muttered, and watched as a police officer rushed towards me and ordered me to put my hands in the air.

Twenty minutes later, I sat in the back of an ambulance with a shock blanket wrapped around my shoulders and a small water in my hands.

"I told you, it was _barely_ a scrape," I said for the sixth time. The paramedic unhappily prodded at my knee and pointed down at the bloodied fabric surrounding the patch of smooth skin.

"Where did all that blood come from?"

"It's not mine," I dryly said, causing him to clamp his mouth shut and his face to blanch. "I kneeled next to one of the bodies to check their pulse."

He purposefully avoided my gaze as his partner deemed me clear of injury, though the blood on my face still troubled them.

"I told you," I said, "That guy was fucking crazy. He smeared the blood on my face when he knocked me out going ballistic! It could've happened to anyone."

"What do you know about the shattered windows and smoke grenades?" A nearby police officer prodded, his little notebook flipped open. He continued to take notes, but I continued to feed him vague bullshit. I think we all knew it, too.

"I was knocked. Out." I ground through my teeth, and the policeman sighed heavily.

"All right. Are we done here?" He said to the paramedics, and finally—mercifully—they agreed to let me drive Stiles and myself home.

At first, Stiles tried to insist that he was okay to drive. After a quick word from the paramedics, though, it was decided that I would be the one to drive us home. And after all that, finally, here we are—an hour later, back at the house.

I emerged from the bathroom freshly showered. Stiles was sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, and all the lights were on. It was strange because usually when he watches TV he likes to have total darkness. He had some sort of infomercial on, and it was clear that he wasn't actually watching it.

Wordlessly, I went to join him. He put the bowl between us and I grabbed a small handful of the burnt kernels, sinking down into the couch as I stared mindlessly at the screen.

"How's your neck?" I asked, turning to peer up at him. He shrugged a shoulder and I pressed my lips together and looked away. An uncomfortable silence fell over the living room, and I let it go on for another breath or so before I finally grabbed the bowl and put it in my lap. "Let's not talk about it." I suddenly suggested, and Stiles nodded in relief.

"That's what I was thinking."

I sighed and reached over him to grab the remote.

He stiffened when I pressed against him and I glanced up at his face, which was carefully frozen in place.

"What?" I asked, my fingers closing around the remote beside him. "I'm not watching this."

I leaned away and he loosened up, exhaling slowly. Frowning at him, I switched the channels over until we finally landed on Godzilla. I tilted my head and left the movie to run for a few moments, and we watched quietly as the giant lizard stomped through the city.

"Too soon, isn't it?" I suddenly muttered, and Stiles eagerly nodded his head. I quickly flipped the channel and the Gecko from Geico strolled across the screen. I grunted and flipped the channel again, and Spongebob popped on the screen. "There," I sighed. "See? Spongebob should be mind-numbingly safe." Stiles murmured in agreement and we settled in to watch. Spongebob and Patrick were apparently inside a cardboard box outside their houses, pretending to climb a mountain. Patrick was super into it as Squidward stomped by with a television he pushed into his house, and Patrick screamed something about being a Lizard King.

I froze and paused a moment before snorting.

Stiles' strangled laugh erupted beside me, and before I knew it, we were full on laughing.

"This is ridiculous," I sputtered, flicking the television off. "Can we please forget the TV?" I asked, peering up at him.

He covered his face with his hand to muffle his exhausted laughter, shrugging helplessly. "Yeah, yeah—fine."

I drew in a breath and sighed heavily. We sat in silence, a nearby clock I didn't even know we had ticking loudly in my ears. Flashes of the night would flood my mind periodically, or flashes of Rex at the party. Restlessly, I shifted and put the bowl onto the coffee table.

"I'm not even close to being tired," I said, turning to look at Stiles.

He shook his head. "Me neither."

I looked away and the clock ticked slowly. "We shouldn't go back."

"No, my dad would kill us," Stile seriously said, though mischief gleamed in his eyes. "And it would look really suspicious."

"He's already on thin ice with the department," I reminded him, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles sighed and knotted his fingers together anxiously. "Yeah."

I bit my lip and looked away. "So... what do you wanna do?"

He hummed thoughtfully and tilted his head. "Well, we could play Halo on my Xbox."

I snarled my lip up. "Seriously?"

Stiles looked at me and shrugged. "Why not?"

"I've never played before."

He perked up. "You've never played Halo?"

I squirmed and looked away. "I've never played the _Xbox_ before."

"Shut up," he snorted, shaking his head. "Yes you have."

I raised my eyebrows and sighed. "No, actually. I haven't."

Slowly, he sat up and fixed me with a serious stare. Without warning, he reached out and snatched my hand up, all but dragging me off the couch. I yelped and he yelled for me to hurry up, dashing through the hallway into his room.

The yearbooks from earlier were still scattered on his desk, but he made quick work of those and threw them in a corner before grabbing his desk chair and wheeling it over to the TV on the other side of his room. He plopped down in it, paused, and looked around. Something occurred to him and he quickly dispensed of the chair and told me to grab some pillows from the bed.

Awkwardly, I reached over and grabbed the pillows off the bed. I stood over the floor between the TV and his bed and he told me to just throw them on the ground as he rummaged through his entertainment center.

Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for. He situated all the pillows and gave me a controller as the Xbox powered on. Amusement tickled my lips as I watched how completely excited he was for me to experience this for the first time.

He leaned over to explain the controls to me, pointing out buttons and what to do to make the screen do what I wanted. There were so many buttons, pads and sticks involved, I felt totally clueless and my face was constantly scrunched as I struggled to keep up with him.

When we finished creating my character, I couldn't help but brag about how badass I looked. " _Red_ , baby," I boasted, "Blue is going _down_."

Stiles snorted dubiously and snickered as I zoomed the camera out when the battle started to strut around the screen like a peacock.

"Yeahh, look at that fine piece of work. What's that? You like my helmet? Thanks, I welded it myself. That's right baby—ohhh, ahhh, I look so cool—" The screen flashed bright red at the edges and my character fell limply to the ground, and I screeched in surprise. Stiles erupted in laughter and I gestured angrily at the screen. "What the fuck was that!"

"You have to play!" He laughed, ducking away as I swatted at him for laughing. "You got killed!"

"Who killed me!?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, just start over."

"Was it you?" I gasped, turning to glare at him.

He sputtered out a laugh and took too long to come up with a response, and I reached over to shove him to the floor.

"It was _you!"_ I accused through his laughter, and he grabbed my wrists to push me away, shouting that I need to actually play the game and not strut obliviously next time.

After that, it was war. When my character finally reset I struggled for a good seven minutes straight just trying to get my character to point the weapon where I wanted and walk at the same time. Stiles continually offered to help me, and after about the third time of being shot in the face, I finally acquiesced.

It's like, when he explains it, the controls make sense. But then the games starts and I completely forget everything he just told me, so I'm reduced to a cursing mess as I try to dodge people and find hiding places. Stiles found the whole thing absolutely hilarious, and suffered from several smacks as I continued to die.

He explained a trick for the sixth time, told me to try using the bazooka, and I eventually just gave up trying to be strategic and started shooting anything that moved on my screen.

"Savannah!" Stiles practically whined. "He was on _your_ team!" He'd spent so long teaching me, and now I was just spraying gunfire, and apparently he was getting frustrated with me. I grinned and leaned over to nudge his controller just as he tried to shoot something. Because of me he missed, and the player turned sights on him and killed him.

Stiles sat with his mouth agape as I fell over myself laughing. He turned to me from his reclined position, watching in disbelief as I tried to stifle my snorts and peeked at him from behind a pillow.

Turning wordlessly back to the screen, he shut his mouth and sat forward, his face turning serious as the game reloaded his character. My smile slowly fell from my face and I looked back to the screen, and gasped when I realized he was quickly making his way towards me in the game.

"Stiles, what are you doing?" I said, and he didn't answer as he concentrated on moving through the terrain until my character popped on his screen. I gasped again and turned my character away to sprint in the opposite direction. "Stiles!" I squealed, and he growled gleefully as his character chased my down, spraying gunfire at me, rolling away when I managed to throw a grenade at him.

My character leapt behind a rock and I was literally sweating and panting from adrenaline as I waited for Stiles to do something. I glanced over at his screen but it was tough to understand what he was doing as he flipped through the controls, and as I opened my mouth to comment, he launched something at me and my whole screen erupted in fire.

I howled in defeat as my character exploded in a fiery death, and I reached over to hit Stiles in the face with my pillow.

He gasped and sputtered out a laugh, batting my pillow away. Grabbing his own pillow, he popped me in the face and I let out a battle cry before rolling away and chucking my pillow at his face.

It worked, and his head actually ducked back from the impact. I was laughing so hard it took me a moment to realize my mistake. He held up both the pillows, a wicked smile crossing his face, and I quickly tried to call out a truce.

He lunged at me and knocked me back as he began to smack me relentlessly, one pillow after the other, and I snatched one out of his grasp. We probably looked like vengeful whack-a-moles, one popping up after the other to strike.

Somehow—don't ask me how— _somehow_ , Stiles ended up with the upper hand. Even as he hovered over me, my pillow flung across the room, his pillow poised dangerously over my face, pinned to the ground, I wouldn't admit defeat.

"This is ridiculous," I snorted, pushing at his chest. "Get off!"

"Why?" He smartly asked, holding the pillow over my head with his eyebrows raised. "You uncomfortable?"

My mouth popped open in shock, my chest convulsing, and he snickered as my face turned bright red and I smacked wildly at him and resisted the urge to just throw him off me. "I am _now!"_ I practically squealed, and he laughed as grabbed my wrist with his free hand and popped me in the face with his pillow.

"You lost," He contentedly declared, rolling over to duck out of the way before I could hit him again.

"Yeah, well _you_ lost on Halo, see?"

The screen was back to the home screen, indicating that Stiles had been shot some time ago. He snorted and shrugged a careless shoulder. "Winning against you is just so much more _satisfying_ , though."

I held my finger up to him and pretended to dig through my pockets, and then pretended to find something. I mimed offering him my middle finger, and he raised unimpressed brows. Getting to his feet as I snickered devilishly, he went to do something with the Xbox and I resituated myself on the ground.

"Well, at least now I know how to make you uncomfortable." He said with his back to me. I froze and my mind flashed back to the precarious position we'd been in just moments before, and my throat seized up and I felt my face scorch bright red. When I didn't immediately crack a smart comment back, Stiles turned to look at me. His eyebrows dropped and a self-satisfied smirk crossed his face. "When you lose, I mean."

I choked and narrowed my eyes, making some excuse about needing a drink as I quickly fled his room.

The rest of the night, we went back and forth between nearly every video game he had. And I lost—every one. I managed to convince him to play a board game with me, and since I'd been losing so hard at the video games, I made sure to completely destroy him with the board games. All in all, I'd chalk the whole thing up to a good night. Aside from, you know, the police station and whatnot.

* * *

 ** _SO MUCH HAPPENED! We're just now getting into the thick of it. Please leave a review! ^_^_**


	42. Go, Hufflepuffs!

_**Hey guys! I recently made a lot of changes in my life, and let's just say that yesterday was fucking miserable for me. I will now throw myself into this story with all I have. As such, here is a new chapter... Expect another one to follow shortly.**_

 _ **Oh! before we get started, a couple of things to announce...**_

 ** _1) These next couple chapters are going to be set during the time between episodes Fury and Battlefield. In the show, I think something like a week or several days pass between the end of Fury (the events at the police station) and the beginning of Battlefield (the day of the championship game.) We start off in this chapter on the morning directly following the events of the police station. Savannah has thus far dodged any/all contact with the sheriff._**

 ** _2) A short, important note will follow the end of the chapter to avoid spoiling anything._**

* * *

"Savannah, what are you doing here?" Scott was standing over a pale-furred, curly haired mutt that was lying helplessly on the medical table.

Deaton turned around from the cabinet he'd been pilfering through, a small vial of some sort of clear liquid and a needle in his hand. He raised his eyebrows at me and the dog under Scott's gentle hands let out a small whimper.

I sighed and jammed my hands in my pockets, strolling casually into the veterinarian's room. Beyond this room, there must have been a section of the clinic that held all of Deaton's patients, so to speak. A shit-ton of dogs were going absolutely berserk at my presence, even from another room. Some of them sounded absolutely rabid, others were howling in fright. "I need bandages and crutches for my bullet wound."

My gaze roved over the small dog that could barely lift its head to look at me, a deep smell of decaying flesh (much like road kill) wafting towards my nose, and intermingling with all the sweet, sharp sterile supplies in here. There was also a surprising amount of herbs and flora that I could smell emanating from the cabinets. I smirked and considered making a quip about having a medicinal card with my name on it, when Deaton set the supplies he'd gathered onto the table and fixed me with a frown.

"What are you talking about?" Scott said, coming out from behind the table. "You healed, right?" His eyes shot down to my leg and he suddenly paused. "What did you do to your jeans?"

"Oh," I looked down and grinned crookedly, shaking my knee at them. Over where there'd been the gaping tear from the bullet, there was a star shaped patch of patterned gold fabric. "Do you like it? I did it myself before I left this morning."

"You did that?" Deaton chirped uncharacteristically, but before I could answer, Scott spoke.

"That looks sort of like the pillows from Stiles' couch—" He broke off and his head snapped up to gawk at me with wide eyes. "You didn't." His voice was low, and I choked back a guilty smile and shrugged. " _Savannah!"_

"I'll replace it! _Relax_ —I used to sew all the—" I broke off, suddenly remembering why I was here and who I was talking to. Scott looked like an interesting mix of scandalized and shocked, and Deaton just looked quietly amused. I cleared my throat. "Never mind, forget that. _Yes_ , I healed," I smacked Scott's worried hand away from my leg before he could so much as bend over.

"Why didn't you just change your clothes?" Scott said, giving me a nearly disturbed look. "Those are still bloody!"

At a loss for words, I looked down at the dark stain that bled around the golden star now covering my knee. The truth is, changing clothes had never occurred to me. Showering is one thing... I'm not used to having clothes to change into, no matter how dirty they become. I'm used to having one, _maybe_ two pairs of everything. But I wasn't about to say that to _them_. I slightly shook my head and cleared my throat, taking a breath. "I need the supplies because Sheriff still thinks I'm injured. As it turns out, the Stilinskis don't keep a very plentiful first aid kit. It consists of a few band-aids and a shocking amount of Ritalin." I mockingly shook a disappointed head. "Shame on the Sheriff."

"I suppose I could spare a few bandages," Deaton kindly spoke, causing Scott to whip a surprised face in his direction.

I smiled noxiously, an impish glint in my eyes. "Fantastic."

"Thanks, Dr. Deaton," Scott started, but the doctor just waved him off and told me I owed him a favor in the future. My eye twitched and I considered telling him to keep the supplies, but a knowing glare from Scott kept my mouth glued shut. "Uh, so… how's Stiles?" Scott tried to keep his voice casual and light, but I peeked knowingly at him from the corner of my eye as I graciously took the supplies from Deaton.

"Hyperactive."

Scott raised an eyebrow at me.

"More so than usual," I clarified, tilting my head. "This morning he was washing his clothes."

He frowned, a thoughtful look on his face. "What's wrong with that?" Deaton asked as he held the vial up to the morning light to draw some medication with the syringe.

"Nothing, except, he'd already washed them twice. It was his uniform for the game."

"Oh," Scott frowned and looked down with a troubled scrunch of his mouth. "Oh."

"Yeah, so anyway, could I get some crutches, too?" I asked the Doctor, and they both paused to look at me. I pressed my lips together and looked between them in the stemming silence. "Oh, do you not use those here?"

"For the animals?" Deaton dryly asked. "No. But I could get you an Elizabethan collar if you'd like."

"What's that?" I frowned.

"A cone," Scott explained, maiming a cone shape around his head.

I scoffed and looked back at the doctor to retort, but he was already focusing on the dog again, running his hand down its side. Before I could say anything the door jingled. Deaton asked Scott to go see whom it is when the chorus of dogs began to violently bark in the other room.

Scott and Deaton exchanged an alarmed glance and I turned around to go see what the hell was going on. "Savannah, wait—"

In the waiting room of the vet's office, Isaac stood just inside the doorway. His hands were jammed in his pockets, his head down, and when I tilted my head at him he blinked in surprise at seeing me.

"Blues Clues," I frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh..."

"Isaac," Scott said from over my shoulder. Deaton stood closely behind him, and I resisted the urge to either push them out of my personal space or react at all, my jaw clenched tightly as I cleared the way for Deaton to let Isaac in.

"No, it's okay, really. I was—I didn't know you had—" His eyes were on me as he struggled to explain his presence, but before he could leave I put my hand up.

"You know what?" I said, looking back at Deaton and Scott. "I got what I came for. I think Isaac needs some—" I paused glancing back at him, suddenly feeling tense and guilty for some inexplicable reason that I didn't want to examine too closely. "Whatever. I'm just gonna go."

I pushed out from between Deaton and Scott, the dogs in the other room beginning to become more and more vicious as I moved through the vet's office. It amplified the pressure in the room and made it difficult to concentrate. My nerves began to fray and I actually felt slightly claustrophobic as I stepped out from behind the counter, brushing Scott's hand off my elbow as he tried to stop me.

"Thanks for the supplies, Doc," I waved the bandages over my head and Deaton watched with a troubled gaze as I brushed past Isaac without looking at him.

"Savannah!" Scott caught up behind me and stopped in front of Isaac, who stood with his head ducked and a reticent air about him. "We need to talk before you go."

I looked back and caught Scott's concerned, guilty expression on his face. He seemed deeply worried about something and all but ready to beg me to stay just a little longer. My mind flashed back to the image of Scott whispering madly with Gerard—the two of them, whispering, plotting. My eyes flickered back to Isaac and I shook my head minutely.

"Savannah," Scott's voice was thick with remorse as I opened the door and the bells jingled. "Wait!"

"I'll see you guys later," I quickly fled into the parking lot and didn't stop until I was on the sidewalk, slowing from my jog to a fast-walk, my boots thudding the pavement heavily.

* * *

It was weird. The tension that frayed my nerves back in the vet's office earlier today never left me. It's like it grabbed hold, dug its claws in, and suddenly I was always on my toes. Always sneaking glances from the corner of my eye—it felt like someone was breathing down the back of my neck at all times. I felt like I was being followed everywhere I went, like something was there, just in the corner of my eye. I would turn to see what it was, but it was gone. As if nothing was ever there in the first place.

This is the type of shit that drove me to drugs before. This constant, agonizing, _tense_ panic. It makes me feel… caged, and also unhinged. Floating, drifting—but also spiraling out of control. Like something is hurtling straight toward me and if I don't duck…

The mind is a powerful weapon. A stray scent can bring a memory crashing back to you—suddenly, unexpectedly. In this case, it's not so much a scent as it is a sensation. The last time I'd felt the sensation I'm describing… I lost control. I lost control and killed my brother.

I can't sit still in class. I feel like the walls are closing in on me everywhere I go. And what's worse? I'm restless as hell! I think maybe Stiles is rubbing off on me.

So when it happened, I was sitting in Spanish class. The teacher was lecturing; kids were spaced out and unfocused all around me. I could _smell_ their boredom, their overflowing hormones. I could _feel_ their emotions. Pile that on top of all the reactions I was already bogged down with, and I felt like an exposed electrical wire submerged in an overflowing bathtub. An accident _waiting_ to happen. Volatile… hazardous.

Someone beside me starting to tap their pencil.

 _Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptatptap—_

I clenched my fist tightly and my temper flared, the incessant noise grating against my frayed nerves like gritty sandpaper.

 _Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap—_

The teacher's voice grew louder, competing with the noise of the pencil.

 **"Antes de leer—"** _taptaptaptaptaptap_ **"—voy a escribir una carta**." _Taptaptaptaptap—_

Quick as lightening, my hand flashed across the aisle and I snatched the pencil out of the kid's hand, throwing it as hard as I could at the board. The pencil broke at the tip upon impact, bouncing back so violently that it ricocheted back across the room and flew into a corner somewhere. Silence echoed over the class.

I suddenly came back to myself, standing over my desk, my arm still outstretched in the throwing position. The teacher gawked at me with a disturbed, quiet anger. "Savannah," She said in clear English. "Get out."

I didn't even bother to gather my books as I dropped my arm and snaked through the aisle, a chorus of whispers and quiet exclamations erupting in the class. My ragged breathing was very nearly all I could focus on.

My heart raced. I felt chilled to the bone, and all I could feel was the very immediate threat of passing out unless I caught my breath. It was like I had just finished hiking up a mountain, my head swam and felt fuzzy.

 _I can't breathe._

Bending at my waist, I gasped violently and twisted my hands into my hair.

 _I can't fucking breathe!_

I sank to the floor and I think I might have blacked out, because when I was finally able to form a coherent thought, I was sat in the middle of a hallway that I had no memory of entering, on the clear opposite side of the building from my Spanish class.

My hands violently shook. I felt hot, but chilled at the same time. My palms were sweating and pale when I finally unclenched them. As the blood slowly drained back into my fingers, I realized that my claws hadn't descended.

I can't shift.

 _Can I shift?_

Did I shift in the middle of school?

 _Fuck. What's happening?_

I placed a shaking hand to the wall and slowly pushed myself off the ground. Swallowing dryly, I smoothed my hand over my hair and looked up and down the hall. No one seemed to be around. No one seemed to even care.

My heart started beating quickly again. I struggled to keep hold of my thoughts as I fled to the first place that sprang to mind, the walls blurring as I hurried past.

I burst into her office. "I need to talk to you," I said, breathless and struggling to maintain control with my hair flying slightly into my face upon my abrupt halt.

Pushing the thick black strands back, I focused on Ms. Morrell to find her seated at her desk with a surprised expression on her face. "Savannah," She rose from her seat and her voice was tense with concern. "What happened?" She briefly glanced away—it wasn't for very long, but I noticed it.

I followed her gaze to see a girl, no taller than a cartoon character and colored just as brightly. From the neon green streak in her hair to her clashing violently purple clothes, it took me a moment to place her. She was the girl who'd been sitting with Danny at lunch a few weeks ago when I tried to apologize to him.

She smiled obliviously between Ms. Morrell and I, obviously the least effected individual in this room by this turn of events.

"I'm with a student right now, but if you want to wait we can speak soon." Ms. Morrell's smile was strained and her eyes were tight as she stared pointedly at me, making a clear effort not to look at the girl seated across from her.

"Oh." I dumbly said, running a cold, numb, sweaty hand over my hair and using it as an excuse to glance over my shoulder as I felt my neck prickle with the sensation of being watched.

"Look, this can be solved easily," The girl's voice was surprisingly strong. From her slight form and narrow facial features, I'd half expected the voice of Minnie Mouse to squeak out. "Just tell the stupid bum that glitter is a non-negotiable decoration."

"Brooke," Ms. Morrell said, gearing up to let her down easy. I didn't even know the context but I could recognize a _my-hands-are-tied_ speech from a mile away. "This really isn't my department—"

"Sure it is!" Brooke persisted, her earrings making tinkle noises as she jerked forward to drive her point home. I watched with wide, perplexed eyes as her large gemmed rings on her fingers glinted under the harsh fluorescent lights when she jabbed at the desk. "You are the 'guidance counselor'. Being pushy is _in_ your job title!"

Ms. Morrell scoffed and glanced at me. "We can make an appointment soon."

"Hey," Brooke barked at me, and I blinked dumbly at her. "Which pep rally would you rather go to?"

She held up two signs—the one in her left hand displayed a colorfully painted picture of a silver glitter telephone. _Your mom called,_ it read. _You left your game at home!_ The one on the right had neat red and black block letters saying, _Go Cyclones!_

I blinked at her and looked back at Ms. Morrell, my voice only slightly wavering now as I deadpanned, "Is this a joke?"

"Yes," Brooke enthusiastically agreed, shaking the glitter poster at Ms. Morrell. "It's a _joke._ See? She gets it too! What's the big deal?"

Ms. Morrell struggled to keep her face professional. "Brooke, maybe this is an issue you should take up with Principal Argent—"

She gasped. "You mean Herbert the Pervert?! Not on your life!" She exclaimed.

I choked out a shocked laugh as Ms. Morrell scolded her and Brooke shook her head so quickly that her earrings and hair clips rattled. "Brooke, I know it's frustrating. But we have to display good sportsmanship at our pep rallies."

"Come on," She drawled, stacking the glitter sign on top and holding it up to let us all take a moment to peer at it. "This has spirit." She flipped the signs. " _This_ has a cheap acrylic paint job, and it's dull, and it makes me wanna barf."

"It's not about the glitter. Your job is to make spirited signs for the school's lacrosse team." Ms. Morrell gave a minute shake of her head. "Not inappropriate slander."

"I think it's funny," I suddenly said, my voice quiet and quaking uncharacteristically. Brooke perked up and beamed at me, but Ms. Morrell's face darkened and she watched me with a troubled gaze.

A few beats passed before finally, she asked Brooke to let herself out. "I'm sorry to cut this meeting short, but Savannah and I have an appointment."

Brooke turned to look up at the clock with all of us. It was a quarter past one o'clock. She turned back, her jewelry softly tinkling. "Right now?"

Silence reined over the room as Ms. Morrell stared directly at Brooke with an expressionless face. Finally, she opened her heavily-glossed mouth. "Yes." She said, her _s_ sharp. "Rules are rules. You can either change the sign, or let someone else be in charge of making them."

Brooke launched out of her seat. "Fine." She quickly began to snatch her things up, gathering all the signs that were either stacked or rolled into cylinders that were held together with rubber bands. She swept up her coral purse and tugged the strap angrily over her shoulder, her entire body leaning angrily to the side as she scooted it farther up her arm and also tried to balance everything she carried. "But when the kids start complaining that the pep rallies have less pep than bingo night at grandma's nursing home, _don't_ come _crying_ to me!"

As she stomped past me, one of her posters fell to the floor. She let out a miserable cry and I wordlessly leaned down to pick it up, handing it over to her with wide, cautious eyes.

"Thank you," she sniffed, throwing Ms. Morrell a dirty look over her shoulder. "This isn't over!"

She slammed the door behind her.

I stared at the door for a few moments and held my breath, half expecting her to burst back through and add something else. Suddenly, a loud, hysterical laugh burst out of my lips.

Ms. Morrell jumped in surprise as my laughter suddenly boomed over the room and I turned back to her, smacking the back of the chair. She blinked and my face slowly turned red as my laughter became silent and tears welled in my eyes.

She opened her mouth, hesitated, and clamped it shut, watching me in disturbance as I gasped for breath and tried to get control over myself. But then Brooke's outfit popped back in my mind, and I howled with laughter again. Ms. Morrell smiled uneasily as I choked out, "Herbert the Pervert!"

I stepped around the chair and collapsed in it with a heavy breath, wiping at my face. "Whew!" I said, a quieter, more subtle _heh_ bubbling out of my lips. "What a nut case."

"Savannah, are you alright?"

I drew in a shaky breath and blinked at her, running my thumb over my tense lips. The clock ticked behind me and I blinked. "No," I said, quietly.

"What happened?" She asked, just as quietly.

I looked down and dropped my hand to my knee, picking at the golden patch. "I threw a pencil at Ms. Juniper's conjugation on the board in Spanish class and she kicked me out."

There was a pause. As she processed this, Ms. Morrell reached over to grab a pen, scribbling a quick note. "You said this was Ms. Juniper's class?" I nodded and she hummed, clicking her pen and gently placing it down. She paused to think something over before finally taking a breath and lacing her fingers together over top her desk. "So what happened?"

I blinked at the question. "…I just told you."

"Why did you throw the pencil?"

"Because the idiot next to me wouldn't quit tapping it," I growled, my frustration sparking again.

I sat up in the seat a little as she raised her eyebrows. "Did you ask him to?"

My eye twitched. "…No."

She hummed thoughtfully and sat back in her seat, letting me fill in the blank myself. _Maybe you should have just asked._

I glanced away and shifted uncomfortably. "I think had another panic attack in the hallway. I haven't had one in… since before… it's been a while."

"Is it because of what happened in Spanish class?"

" _Yes_." I snapped, and then hesitated. "No."

"Okay, what was it really about, then?"

"I don't know—" I suddenly started to rise out of my seat. "I think this was a mistake—"

"Stop." Ms. Morrell's word actually caught me off guard, and I froze. She stared up at my death glare unflinchingly. "Sit back down."

I breathed, silently watching her for a few moments. Slowly, I sank back onto the seat and we watched each other quietly.

She drew in a sudden breath and looked down, shifting some papers on her desk busily. "Tell me about your parents."

I blinked in surprise. "My—w-what?"

"Your parents," She raised her eyebrows at me. "You never talk about them. Why?"

I swallowed and glanced away. "Because no one ever asks."

She frowned briefly before her features smoothed over. "And you don't feel the need to share it with anyone?"

My mind flashed to Stiles and I pushed _that_ thought away. "People hate talking about dead parents." I said, the clock ticking loudly behind us. "Most of the time, people think that when a kid's parents die, the kid probably doesn't wanna talk about it. But that's not true. That's a lie people tell themselves so they don't feel as guilty about not bringing it up. It's _easier_ if I tell people that my parents died. Fuck, I wanna tell people right when I meet them." I smiled bitterly. "Hi, my name is Savannah Carmichael. My parents are dead." Ms. Morrell quietly digested this information, and I took a breath before continuing. "It's the _other_ people who get uncomfortable about it. _They're_ the ones who don't like talking about it. Not me. Them."

"And what about your brother?" Ms. Morrell calculatingly prodded, tilting her head slightly. My hands clenched and my jaw tightened, and I carefully wiped my face clean.

"That's different."

"How?" She persisted.

I stared at her silently and she waited for a response. I just stared at her, completely uninterested in broaching that topic. _Why?_ Why is that different? Because I _killed_ him, that's why!

"Because he's still missing." Ms. Morrell deduced, and I was careful not to react. She took my silence as confirmation. "Because he might still be alive, or he might be dead, but talking about it makes it too real for you."

I swallowed and looked away. Well, _that_ part she hit on the head. Talking about that does make it too real for me. I remained silent through her steady prodding, and she finally rested her chin on her hand.

"I think you should start a journal."

Reflexively, I snorted in derision. She didn't even react as I raised an eyebrow at her. "What?"

"You should start a journal about them. Or maybe not about them. Make it about anything you want." She reached down to her drawer and pulled it open, shifting through its contents briefly. "But it's important to be expelling the thoughts you have. If you keep them bottled up, the pressure will build. And eventually, you have to explode, just like today in class."

She slid a thick red notebook across the desk and I stared at it intensely.

"Maybe this will help you to finally get some closure."

I looked back up to her and she looked kindly back at me, a small smile on her lips that seemed out of place, given the topic. But she was trying to show me it was okay. She was trying to show me she cared, and that this is a good idea.

Wordlessly, I slowly reached out to take the notebook. I flipped it open and flipped through all the pages, glancing up at her. It was totally blank. Completely ready to be filled with whatever.

"Before you go, do you want to talk about what happened at the police station?"

I raised an eyebrow at her. Still remaining silent, I shook my head.

She pursed her lips and considered me briefly. Finally, she nodded. "Okay. But I'd like to speak with you any time you feel like it for the rest of the week."

Rising out of the chair, I made my way over to the door and touched the handle. Just before I could leave, Ms. Morrell called my name. I turned back to her.

"Would you mind checking to make sure Brooke isn't doing anything drastic?"

I frowned at her. "What?"

"I just—" She shook her head and smirked. "She doesn't listen to me, but I think… she might listen to a student. Just go make sure she doesn't vandalize anything, okay?"

I snorted and pulled the door open. "Whatever you say."

When I stepped into the waiting room, Brooke was looking over the pamphlets displayed by the chairs. Her arms were still full of her posters, and she nearly dropped another as she dragged the sliding strap of her purse higher up her shoulder.

I looked over her outfit again in mild amusement and maybe just a hint of distaste. Who can dress that brightly and _not_ have a constant headache?

I closed the door loudly behind me and scared Brooke into jumping in surprise. One of the posters rolled across the floor and she barked out, "Twatwaffle!"

I snorted in surprise and she gasped and dropped all the rest of the posters, grasping her heart. "Christ on a bike!" She exclaimed, sending me a scathing glare as I laughed loudly at her. "You scared the pee out of me!"

I reached up to scratch at my nose, the smile slowly dropping from my face. "You, uh, dropped those," I pointed down at the posters, scattered across the floor. Some of the rolled ones fled under the chairs. She grumbled to herself and suddenly dropped to the ground, her purse landing with a thud.

Her accessories jangled noisily as she began to gather the ones out from under the chairs, and I simply watched in bewilderment, unsure of how to react. She loudly blew the hair out of her face and turned to send me pointed look. "You gonna help, or just stand there like a bump on a log?"

I frowned at her simile, mentally noting that it didn't make sense. I crossed my arms and shook my head. "Who are you?"

She grumbled to herself and stood up, suddenly kicking the posters in a spit of anger. "Just forget it!" She turned back to me and jutted her hand out, and I almost reacted, but I realized she just wanted to shake my hand at the last second. "My name is Brooklyn St. James, I'm the co-president of student council, president of art club, member of the LGBTIQAP community, choirgirl, proud president and founder of the cheese club, three-time-reining champion of the speech team, and chaser on my recreational quidditch team." She paused. "Go Hufflepuffs!"

I blinked down at her hand, and where I would normally insult her and turn away, something about what she said made me pause. "You're the chairman of LGBT-what?"

"I'm a _member_ of the LGBTIQAP community. And it would be chair _woman_." Her hand was still out waiting for me to shake it, but when it became clear that it wasn't gonna happen, she snapped her fingers and pointed at me before pretending to brush her hair back along the green streak. "Too slow."

I frowned at her, my lip snarling up. "I think they added a few letters since I last heard about them."

"Probably." She simply nodded, bouncing suddenly on the balls of her feet. "So, when are we going to start on those posters?"

"Excuse me?" I raised my eyebrows and she looked down at the floor, where the posters were still scattered.

"Well, the thing is, before I went in to speak to Ms. Morrell I actually made about six more of those glitter signs. And she said that I have to use the boring one, which I only made _one_ of. Because I hate them. But now I have to change them all. Aren't you going to help?"

I narrowed my eyes in disgust. "No."

"But I have to have them ready for the game on Friday!" She whined, suddenly pressing her hands together to give me a pathetic pout. "Pleeeeeeeease?"

I scoffed and turned away. "Not my problem."

"Wait!" she called. "Wait!"

She suddenly caught up to me and grabbed me by the arms, trying to push me to a stop. I only barely managed to keep myself from physically shoving her into the floor, settling for fixing her with my best death glare. She abruptly put her hands up and took a wide step back.

" _Okay_ ," She erratically calmed, her bright rings standing out to me again as she held her hands up. "Okay. No touchy-touchy. I got it! Won't happen again, boss."

My eye twitched. "Don't call me that."

"You got it, b—" She pursed her lips and puffed out a breath. " _Beautiful_."

"Don't call me _that_ either."

"Fine, _whatever_ , look, the truth is—that bitch Maggie Melwood is actually in charge of the pep rally. I would totally do a better job than her but since her mom basically funds the team's new uniforms and shit whenever they needs something, her daughter gets to be in charge of whatever she wants. And she's _totally_ out to get me—so she put me on sign duty of the pep rally. It's _really_ important that I don't mess this up!"

I scrunched my face and felt my patience wavering. " _Why?"_

"Because," she stomped her foot. "I worked _really_ hard on those freakin' posters, okay!"

"Why don't you just take them to the game?"

She blinked at me and clamped her mouth shut, her eyes fluttering as she looked between me and the posters scattered on the floor of the waiting room behind us. "But—"

She looked back at me. "I'm in charge of the posters for the pep rally."

I sighed impatiently, throwing my head back. "Says who?" I groaned.

"Says Maggie Melwood," She weakly supplied, bouncing anxiously on her feet.

" _Fuck_. Maggie Melwood."

"Oh," Brooke nodded slowly. "Okay." She stepped back and shook her hands out, bouncing back and forth on her feet. "Yeah. You know what? You're right!"

I scoffed and finally turned away to leave.

" _Fuck_ Maggie Melwood!" Brooke cheered behind me, and I could hear her jewelry swishing as she undoubtedly pumped her fists in the air.

"What?" A voice said from down the hall—a passing teacher. I paused but didn't turn around as Brooke gasped and uneasily echoed the teacher with a panicked _what?_

 _"_ Hmmm? What? I just said—uh—duck… out of priesthood."

I burst out laughing and turned around, biting my knuckle to stifle myself as Brooke quickly turned away to rush up to me with wide eyes. "Go, go, go!" She quietly urged. "Abort! Abort!"

She frantically hurried me along, fleeing the teacher's dirty glare until we rounded the corner safely. The halls were still empty, but it was probably not long until the bell rang and signaled the end of class. Brooke dramatically said—literally _said_ the word _phew_ —and stepped away from me.

"So anyways, I'll see you at the game Friday!"

"What?" I said, shaking my head. Brooke tilted her head and put her hands on her hips, breathless from fleeing the teacher.

"You said we should go to the game."

"No, I said _you_ should go to the game."

"But won't you be there anyways?"

I paused, scrunching my face and narrowing my eyes at her. She waved me off and chirped out a laugh.

"Look, forget it, okay?" She shrugged lightly and I frowned. "It seemed like you could use a friend, but if you don't want one, then don't worry about it." She backed down the hall and pointed directly at me, and I watched, speechless. "I won't bother you again, Savannah!"

I simply stared at her as the bell rang, and students flooded the hall. She turned away and her colorful clothes disappeared into the crowd, and I was left to stare after her in confusion.

"Savannah?" Stiles asked from beside me, making me jump. I realized then that I wasn't quite as tense as I had been most of the day. He looked me over and frowned worriedly. "What are you doing here?"

I looked over at the door he'd emerged from, where more students were filing out with their textbooks. I read the spine of their books to see he'd been in pre-cal. "I—" I looked back at where Brooke had disappeared to. "I don't know."

He raised an eyebrow at me and took me by the shoulder, steering me down the hall. "Okay," He said slowly. "Shouldn't you be in Spanish?"

My eyes snapped over to him. "How do you know that?"

His face flamed red. "It's—I—I memorized Scott's schedule and also yours and Lydia's."

My heart jumped to be thrown into the same category as Lydia and Scott. "Mine and Lydia's? Why?"

"Because I like to know," He sputtered out, anxiously changing the topic as he flicked something in my arms. I looked down in mild surprise to see I still held the red notebook to my chest. "What's that?"

"It's a journal."

"Hm," He observed, looking at it thoughtfully. "For what?"

I scowled and secretively clutched it tightly. "None of your business, that's what."

Stiles smirked tauntingly. "What, so it's like your diary?"

"Shut your mouth," I punched his shoulder and he snickered and shied away from my fist.

"Are you gonna write _I heart Jackson_ all over the cover—" I smacked him over the head with it and he broke off in a loud grunt, backing away. " _Mrs. Jackson Whittemore—"_

He dodged me as I started to chase after him, cackling loudly.

* * *

 _ **So I wanted to give a HUGE FUCKING SHOUT OUT to**_ Hurricane.'97 _ **everybody! She helped me develop the new OC, Brooke St. James! Brooke will become a recurring character in this story and I'm really excited about it. Hurricane, I know you've waited a long time for this chapter! I hope she lived up to your expectations :) She's one of my favorite characters I've ever written in a story. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, A MILLION TIMES, THANK YOU.**_


	43. The Shock of Your Life

Go row the boat to safer grounds

But don't you know we're stronger now

My heart still beats and my skin still feels

My lungs still breath, my mind still fears

But we're running out of time

Oh, all the echoes in my mind cry

 _\- Running with the Wolves, by AURORA_

* * *

 ** _Two Years Prior_**

 _I paced the floor of the restaurant, ignoring the stares that I got from nearby patrons. The smell of garlic, butter, and freshly baked pizza made my stomach rumble. It was raining out, the sky overcast and grey. As a result the lighting in the restaurant was more drab than usual, since there wasn't much sunlight to stream through the darkly tinted windows._

 _That doesn't matter. Nothing could touch me. Not today. Today is Saturday—today, Jack is going to meet me for lunch. When one of the foster kids ate my breakfast, I didn't say anything. I only had a dopey smile on my face, because food didn't matter. Jack is gonna buy me pizza! The best pizza. Why the heck do I care about breakfast?_

 _There aren't very many good reasons for me to get out from under the covers most days. But days when Jack visits? Those days, I can't get out of the door fast enough. I sped through my self-given chores and ran the whole way here._

 _Mario looked at me from a few tables over. He was clearing it. The family that sat there had come in, looked at me, and sadly shook their heads and whispered about me throughout their meal. I swallowed my jealousy, reminded of when our family would come here for pizza. I slid out of the booth to escape their stares, walking farther away so I could stare out the window to watch when Jack approached. When the family left, the woman paused to stare at me for a moment._

 _I ignored her and pressed my nose to the glass, and by the time I turned around, they were gone. Now, Mario cleared their table and pointed over at the large plate of pizza on the table at the booth behind me. "Your slice is gonna get cold."_

 _"He's not here yet." I walked away from the window to look at Mario, crossing my arms. "I shouldn't start without him."_

 _Mario snorted and waved me off. "He'd understand."_

 _I dubiously lifted my chin at him and shook my head stubbornly. "I have to wait for him, he's probably just around the corner."_

 _"Okay, honey." Mario said, and my temper sparked at the term. Honey is a name for babies and little kids. I'm not a baby, or a little kid. I don't need to be coddled. I turned back to look out the window again._

 _"My name is Savannah," I said, my breath fogging the glass. "And he's coming. He promised."_

* * *

I sat up on the couch, gasping around the lump in my throat. My eyes ached, burning as I scrubbed at them.

Sounds of someone moving around the kitchen reached my ears and I clenched my jaw and growled quietly, throwing myself back on the couch.

 _Not today_. I don't need to be thinking about that today. Or ever, for that matter. I'm so sick of feeling sad… feeling guilty. I turned over and pressed my cheek against a pillow, the darkness of the living room providing somewhat of a blanket in itself. Mentally, I tried to play the darkness up as a comforting blanket.

But then the memory clawed at my mind again, ripping the metaphorical blanket over my face and pressing it down tightly. I tried to fight it back as the lump grew again, my eyes growing hot, my heart clenching painfully. My breaths grew shallow and I pressed my face tightly against the pillow to muffle the sound.

I punched the couch and flipped over, hot tears trailing down the sides of my face and into my hairline. The sound of a spoon stirring in a mug reached my ears. I closed my eyes and stretched my hearing, catching the sound of a sigh.

A phone rang. The spoon clattered onto the counter, and I felt my breathing slow as I concentrated on a quiet string of curses. "Hello?" Sheriff whispered, his shoes making small scrapes against the floor as he held his breath and waited for something. I couldn't make out what the voice on the other side said, but the Sheriff cut them off abruptly. "I know, I know, I'm on my way in—" Mutter, mutter. "Yeah, no. Okay."

The spoon clattered again as he put it in the sink and ran the water. "Okay. Tell Briggs not to mess around on those reports, would ya? That's part of the duty. Don't make me tell him twice, okay?" Pause. "Yep. See you soon." The phone flipped shut, and I wanted to smirk because he still had a flip phone. The tightness in my throat subsided and I listened as he transferred his coffee into a travel mug, and then I squeezed my eyes shut when he suddenly trekked through the hall. His boots made heavy thuds as he moved through the house, and I slowed my breathing and carefully smoothed my face into a blank expression, my eyes closed, while he leaned over the top of the couch. "Savannah?" He whispered.

I twitched my nose and grunted, rolling over to bury my face into the couch.

He breathed a sigh of relief and stepped away. The front door opened, a whoosh of cool air blasting over the living room as it shut behind him. I waited a minute or so—long enough to hear his car start up and pull out of the driveway.

The minute the tires rolled down the street, I sat up on the couch and scrubbed my hands over my face. The darkness wasn't as ominous as before. I sighed heavily and blinked to clear my vision. On the coffee table, the smooth cover of the journal Ms. Morrell had given me called to me.

I chewed my lip and cracked my knuckles. The memory still pulled at me. I snatched it off the table and pulled the pen out from the coiled spine, clicking it thoughtfully.

My hand rested against the paper, the tip of the pen hovering over the first line. I fumbled with how to start it.

 _I mean, what do I do? Introduce myself?_

I scoffed and shook my head, flipping the cover shut and letting it flop limply on my lap.

It sat for a few seconds as I breathed slowly and scrubbed at my nose, trying not to look at it.

 _Besides, what if Stiles walks in and sees? What would that look like?_

In an attempt to distract myself, I drew my arms over my head and stretched as I let out a loud yawn, allowing the journal to slide off my lap and onto the floor.

Two seconds passed before I snapped it off the floor with a curse, standing from the couch. The blankets tangled in my ankles, and I moodily shook them off as I stomped out of the living room and into the hall.

I stormed into the bathroom and shut the door softly, flipping the lock. Then I began to pace. The pen tapped restlessly against the cover of the journal.

I sighed and went to throw the seat down with a scoff. _Boys_. Then I flipped the lid closed and plopped my butt on the porcelain throne. Crossing my legs, I tentatively wrote a line. I caught my bottom lip between my teeth and chewed thoughtfully, adding another. And then another, and soon, I was scribbling furiously.

* * *

 _"I miss you." My pizza sat, untouched and cold on my plate. Jack paused from chewing and his bright blue eyes flickered up to me before he glanced away guiltily._

 _"I know, Van." Usually that nickname annoys me. He knows that, which might be part of why he said it. But a knowing grin crossed his face and he held in a laugh, making me snort before I could stop myself. "It's this new job," He complained in distaste. "The boss has got me working round the clock. I guess we're behind schedule or somethin'—"_

 _"Hah!" A smart voice barked from nearby. Jack turned around to look at Mario, who was trying to pretend he hadn't said anything as he furiously scraped some food into a trashcan._

 _"What?" Jack asked, a smile playing at his lips. "Is something funny, Mario?"_

 _Mario angled a bitter look in his direction as he dramatically dusted his hands off. "Not a thing, Jack. Just noticed that you been late a lot lately, you know what I mean?"_

 _I snarled my nose up and silently made a face at him, drawing my finger across my neck. Jack's shoulders were tight and he rolled his jaw as he slowly turned back to me, and I quickly dropped my hands and tilted my head innocently. He shook his head at me and scoffed, picking his pizza back up. "The pizza is great today, Mario."_

 _"Of course it is," Mario irritably bit back. "I mean… it woulda been_ better _an hour ago, when I served it, but hey."_

 _Jack dropped his pizza and sat up, and I quickly reached out to grab his hand. "Jack, guess what?"_

 _He sighed heavily through his nose, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "What's that, Van?"_

 _I glanced away and brought my hand back to my hair, smoothing it self-consciously. "I got a hair cut."_

 _"Yeah?" He smiled crookedly and looked me over, leaning from side to side as I turned my head for him to see. A low whistle drew out of his lips. "Looks gooood, sis! Who did it?"_

 _"I did," I said, running my fingers through the choppy tresses. "It's shorter than I normally like it—but…" But the lice in that damn brush were driving me crazy. "This is easier."_

 _"You look like Madonna when she had short hair."_

 _"What?" I snorted, and Mario laughed loudly too. "She's white! And blonde."_

 _"Yeah, but dad always said you looked like her, and I agree."_

 _My laughter died and the smile fell from my lips. I looked down and picked up my pizza for the first time, taking a bite without tasting it._

 _Jack's smile faltered and he shifted in his seat. "We gotta talk about them at some point."_

 _"Why?" I said, dropping my pizza angrily. "One day, we had them. They were here, and now they're not. They were crushed to death and—" I broke off, my anger spiking and the urge to cry was suddenly overwhelming. Pretending not to be upset at his tardiness became difficult, as he pushed the conversation in a direction it wasn't meant to go. "They were crushed to death and it never would have happened if it wasn't for you."_

 _He flinched and I pressed my lips together, letting out a frustrated breath. "Or maybe it was God."_

 _"Don't talk like that," Jack snapped, shaking his head at me._

 _"Why not?" I said, my voice rising as I became more and more upset. "It's the truth, isn't it! Who else can I blame?"_

 _"Not—that! Don't blame Him!"_

 _I let out an angry growl and smacked the table, rising out the booth to lean over the table. "I'm angry, Jack! That's the truth! That's how I feel! That's why I don't wanna talk about it! Because I miss them, and I love them, and they're not_ here! _And nothing we can say is ever gonna change that!"_

 _"_ Okay _," He weakly said, his eyes glistening as he clenched his jaw and stared down at the table._

 _"Kids?" Mario said from behind the counter. I took in a deep breath and looked up at him, blinking. A hot, wet trail raced down my cheek and I swiped at it in surprise, looking down at my hand._

 _Slowly, I lowered back to the booth, the leather sighing as I sat down._

 _Quietly, Jack said, "Okay," again. "We don't have to talk about that. I'm sorry. That's not why I'm here."_

 _I took in a deep breath and swiped at my cheeks angrily, because now the tears won't stop coming. "Fine."_

 _He paused and thought something over. "Do you really blame me?"_

 _I clenched my jaw and stayed silent for a long time. The sounds of the restaurant filled my silence, but my answer was obvious long before I spoke. Finally, I grumbled, "No."_

 _Pained, he nodded and looked away, brushing the side of his face into the shoulder his jacket. The action drew my attention to the pocket in the chest. Peeking out was the top of a carton of cigarettes._

 _I frowned and anger grew in my chest. "Are you smoking now?"_

 _He looked down and froze very briefly—so brief I almost missed it. Then he scoffed and shook his head, shoving his hands into his jacket and sighing. A beat passed before he spoke. "I know." His blue eyes flicked back to me, slightly red-rimmed with unshed tears. "Stupid, right?"_

 _I nodded. "Extremely."_

 _He snorted. "You're so honest."_

 _I blinked and frowned, and the front door jingled behind me. He looked up and grew still, his gaze fixed on something. "That's the way we were raised, though," I pointed out._

 _His eyes met mine and he drew in an absent breath, nodding. "Yeah. Guess so."_

 _His tone was distant. His sentences had grown short, choppy. He was trying to find a good place to say he had to go. I felt my heart sink and I clenched my fist, looking down at the pizza, which was mostly untouched by me._

 _"Look, Van," He started, and I promptly picked up the slice of pizza and took a huge bite. He sighed, shifting. "I gotta go, kid."_

 _"My name is Savannah."_

 _His eyebrows shot up and he smirked. "Not to me. To me, you'll always be Van."_

 _"That's stupid."_

 _"Just like you," He teased, and I kicked him under the table. "Ow!" He jokingly cried, reaching down to grab his shin and drawing a rueful smile from me. He beamed at me and patted the table. "I'll visit real soon."_

 _The smile dropped from my lips and I took another bite of pizza._

 _"I promise," He added._

 _I took another bite, my cheeks bulging, and he watched me with inexplicably sad eyes._

 _"There's someone I want you to meet."_

 _Interest begged me to look up, but I pushed it away and chewed my pizza, my gaze focused on the plate. No. I'm mad at him. He came late, and now he's leaving early. He gets to go wherever he wants, but where do I have to go? Do these meetings even matter to him? Do I?_

 _"I really think you'll like them," Jack tried, biting at his lip. I sniffed and swallowed roughly before taking another bite. He looked away and shook his head very slightly. It was so slight; if I hadn't been paying attention I would have assumed he was shaking his head to himself. But something in the back of my mind said he might've been shaking his head_ at _someone. But that didn't make sense, so I dispelled that thought like a cloud of smoke and focused on ignoring him._

 _"Okay… Well… I love you, Savannah."_

 _I glanced up at him, my throat growing tight as I stopped chewing. My mouth was full of pizza as I swallowed, food still in my mouth. "Then take me with you," I murmured around the pizza._

 _His face grew pained and he looked at me for a few second—just looked at me. I felt my eyes burn and the yearning and sadness was so heavy in my heart that I wanted to spit the pizza out. Finally, he sadly shook his head. I braced myself for the words I knew he was about to say. "I can't. You know that."_

 _I shut my emotions down, pushing them into the farthest corner of my mind. I forced myself to chew mechanically, looking down again._

 _"Savannah..."_

 _Another few seconds passed, and when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, he rose out of his seat and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of my head. My fists clenched into tight balls and I bit my cheek as hard as I dared, willing myself not to look up._

 _He stood up straight and turned away. Turned his back to me,_ again _, he walked to the exit with purpose. I squeezed my eyes shut, my head hung, and my heart squeezed so painfully I thought someone reached into my chest and gripped it with their hands as the bells on the door jingled._

 _"Jack—wait!" I cried, my voice cracked and miserable as I fell out of the booth. But when I finally got to my feet, he was gone. "Wait!"_

 _I ran across the restaurant and nearly burst through the still opened door, but something stopped me at the last second. Cold, fresh air washed over me, smelling thick with rain. The door finally shut and I let out a pained breath, tears streaming down my face._

 _It was the last time I'd see him until the hearing._

* * *

The doorknob twisted, but the lock stopped it. I gasped, startled, and the pen clattered onto the ground. "Savannah?" Stiles said, his fist pounding the door. "Hurry up!"

I sniffed and scrubbed at my cheeks. My throat was tight and I quickly smacked the journal shut, and looked over the bathroom as I brought my mind back to the present.

 _Damn._

"Savannah?" His voice was muffled through the door, and I blew a hot breath out my lips and quickly ran my hand through my hair.

"H-Hang on! Give me a minute!"

I swiped the pen off the floor and paused at the mirror. My eyes were rimmed with red, and my nose was red at the tip, which always happened when I cried. Clenching my jaw, I set the journal down and flipped the faucet on. Cold water ran over my fingers, and I allowed one moment to relish the feeling before I quickly splashed my face.

The towel rack clattered as I swiped the small hand towel off it, wringing my hands through it before shutting the faucet off, grabbing the journal, and flipping the lock.

I paused with my hand on the door handle, took a breath, and swung it open.

"Savannah," Stiles said as I rushed past him with my head ducked. "What are you—is that your journal? What were you doing?"

"Bandaging my knee," I said without thinking. I quickly dove over the couch and prayed he didn't notice that my knee was very much _not_ bandaged, his basketball shorts that I borrowed doing little to help the cause.

"Really?" He flatly asked. "I didn't know they _made_ transparent gauze…"

I growled and pressed my face into a pillow. "Yeah, I got it from the first aid kit you guys keep. Found it right next to the Neosporin and pain medication."

"We don't have Neosporin," Stiles said, and I could just hear the confused frown in his voice.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes you do, you just didn't see it because it's transparent."

"Oh," He dryly realized, humming irritably. "Funny."

I sighed and popped over the couch to look at him tiredly. "Hurry up in the bathroom, would ya? I need to shower."

He made a frustrated noise stuck between a grunt and a snort, throwing his hands out. "Wha—you—" He pointed at the bathroom. "But!"

I smirked and winked. "Joking."

He sighed at me and shook his head, a grudging smile tugging at his mouth. He grumbled and let the door slam shut behind him.

I pursed my lips to myself, watching the door. A few moments passed and the shower flicked on, and I turned around to sit on the couch thoughtfully for a few seconds.

The black basketball shorts caught my eye, and I ran a hand over his white shirt that I'd nabbed _. Clothes._ I should scrounge up some more clean clothes.

Mission in mind, I walked into the kitchen. The light of the morning poured through the windows. I'd spent longer in the bathroom than I realized. The clock on the stove told me that we had about twenty minutes before school started, and I sighed tiredly and grabbed an empty mug out of the cabinet.

Sheriff had made enough coffee to allow me to have some to start my day off. Coffee is never something that I started to _need,_ but it's definitely one of my comfort foods. Content, I took another slow sip of the hot, sweet-but-bitter liquid and reflected on the fact that Ms. Morrell had been wrong. I wrote in the journal, and all I'd gotten out of it was an embarrassing experience with Stiles. And I still feel like shit. I sighed and set the mostly emptied mug down.

Ten minutes to school.

Wandering to the laundry room, I began to pick through the neat stacks of cleanly laundered clothes, fresh and ready to be hung. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Stiles would end up putting these through the washer another time or two before calling it quits. It seems he's a nervous cleaner. No _wonder_ such a strong part of his scent is laundry detergent.

His red uniform hung in the corner of the laundry room, the sunlight cutting through the small holes. I ran my hand over the white number _twenty-four_ , and mildly wondered if he'd ever actually played lacrosse before. I snorted and then mentally marked another dollar for the Asshole Jar, because that was a bit mean.

Sighing, I gently smacked my hand against the jersey and turned back to the pile, and suddenly remembered that I now had less than ten minutes before we had to get to school.

I yanked his white shirt over my head and tugged his basketball shorts off, stepping out of them where they pooled on the ground, gathered them up, and tossed them into the nearby laundry basket that had previously been emptied.

A blue shirt caught my eye towards the middle of the pile, and I thumbed the rest of the stack out of the way to pull it out. Shaking it out, I looked it over and wondered if this was actually the Sheriff's, because it was rather large. If I'd been smart, I would have paid closer attention to my surroundings, considering the fact that I wasn't alone in the house.

"Savannah, have you seen my— _Oh my god!"_

I whirled around with a gasp, my heart leaping into my throat, "Stiles!"

"Sorry!" He sputtered, frozen in place. A toothbrush was in his hand, and his words had been slurred slightly because he was in the midst of brushing his teeth. His eyes were glued to my body, and I snapped at him to ask what the hell he wanted, my face heated. He looked back up at me, his face totally blank and dazed. "I have no idea," he admitted, his voice stunned and a small trail of toothpaste running out of the corner of his mouth.

I snatched a shirt from behind me and quickly tossed it at his face, screaming at him to get out.

"Shit!" He gasped, tripping over himself and falling face first into the floor in his haste to turn around. I slammed the door behind him and whirled away, my heart racing wildly.

Silence rang in my ears as I tried to gain control of my frantic heart. Stiles' choked voice muffled through the door for the second time that morning as he frantically apologized.

I quickly grabbed a shirt that looked about Stiles' size, tugged it over my head, and looked around the room for something to wear other than his basketball shorts. Thank god I still had my underwear on through that… but the thing is, I hadn't worn a bra to bed last night. Which means… well.

I roughly pondered his pile of jeans and made a bit of a mess as I rifled through them, but can you blame me? I was still _completely_ flustered.

A small pair of jean shorts fell out of the pile. I looked down and paused, realizing that Stiles had washed my shorts for me. I sighed and blinked at them, my mind abruptly stopping as I took a deep breath and my wild heart finally began to calm.

When I came out of the laundry room, Stiles was standing nearby with his back to me. "It was an accident!" He hurriedly exclaimed.

"I know that," I grumbled, my cheeks hot as I looked anywhere but at him. "I'm dressed _now_ , idiot. You can turn around."

Cautiously, Stiles turned around. His eyes were wide and nervous as he looked at me, and my jaw dropped when they flickered down to my body again. His expression glazed over and I tilted my head in disbelief.

" _Stiles!"_

He jumped and looked up at me. "Nothing! What?"

"You done?" I testily asked, my hands on my hips. He visibly struggled to keep his gaze locked on my eyes and he let out a high-pitched, strangled noise that vaguely sounded like an affirmative.

" _Sorry_."

"Okay," I breathed, shaking my head. "School starts soon." He jumped away when I brushed past him, laughing nervously.

"Some day, we'll laugh about this! You know? Why not today!"

"Not today," I muttered, and he quickly dropped the smile and nodded solemnly, clearing his throat.

"Not today."

Pausing, I snorted at him and a genuine smirk made me shake my head. I made my way to the back door and Stiles called out to me to stop.

"Where are you going?"

"I've gotta do something before school," I said, and didn't stick around to explain myself before I stepped out onto the back porch and let the door slam behind me. The fresh air hit my face and I took in a deep breath as I quickly padded down the steps.

Sunshine in my hair and dew dampening my ankles, I wondered if I should mow the overgrown grass or something as I stepped out of the backyard and crossed the next street, trying to hurry before school started.

* * *

The old abandoned building loomed over me. It felt weird, looking up at it. Like I was looking at a photo of my past. I clenched my jaw through a startling wave of resentment, rounding the corner to find the dumpster.

But it was gone. It had been moved, and the window was repaired. I raised my eyebrow and sighed heavily, shaking my head.

"Nothing is ever easy," I muttered, scanning the alley for a weapon of some kind.

A familiar smell crossed my nose. I grew still and my eyes flicked to the side.

Wordlessly, I turned around and frowned at Derek.

"We need to talk." He said, standing near the mouth of the alley.

My eyebrow shot up. "About?"

"You know what."

I pursed my lips thoughtfully. "Mmmm… nope. I don't think I do. But that's normal, isn't it?" I said with a mocking smirk. "You _always_ know more than I do."

He rolled his eyes and took a step closer to me. "What are you doing back here?"

I sighed and looked up at the window. "…Would you believe me if I said I needed crutches?"

Dark humor pulled at his features. "Probably not," He admitted, his eyes glancing down to my legs. "What for?"

I imagined trying to explain the need to keep up appearances for the Sheriff, but something told me he wouldn't understand. I said so, and Derek crossed his arms.

"You know Scott is lying to you, right?"

"I'm _familiar_ with that sensation, yes," I bitterly jabbed, and Derek rolled his eyes again.

"Can you stop being passive aggressive for two seconds?"

"Sure, I could take the passive out if you want."

Derek sighed and took his hands out of his pockets to run his hands over his hair in frustration. "You know why things aren't easy for you? Because you're _difficult_."

I smirked at him, which only made him angrier. "Let me know when you're done throwing your tantrum." I turned away and examined my nails, and Derek growled lowly.

"Why are you okay with _him_ lying to you?"

I scoffed. "Who?"

" _Stop_ it."

I sighed and rolled my head back, closing my eyes and taking a breath. When I had calmed some, I shook my hands out and faced Derek. "All right. You want to talk? Let's talk."

"Scott is planning something with Gerard. I overheard him at the station, and so did you. I saw you."

A slow breath blew out of my lips, and I crossed my arms tiredly. "What is it with you people? What do I have to do to make you trust me?"

Derek, in a rare display of emotion, frowned in sympathy. "I do trust you." I looked at him flatly and he hesitated before adding, "Now."

I grunted in amusement and sighed. "I haven't said anything to Scott." My tone lightened carefully and I tightened my arms. "Been giving him the _cold shoulder_."

Derek nodded, his lips tight. "Gerard can't be trusted. I don't know what they're planning, but I _know_ that. Whatever he's planning can only end well for him."

"So why is Scott playing along?" I shook my head and glanced up at the sky, where clouds were beginning to form. "If there's one thing I learned about him, he wants to do the right thing. He's _determined_ to help Jackson, but Gerard seemed like he just wanted to kill him. He said _let us take care of Jackson and Matt_ , and then Matt just turned up dead? From _drowning?"_

"That's what I thought, too… I saw Gerard murder Matt."

I gasped and my mind reeled with this revelation, my arms falling limp to the side. " _What?"_

"I _told_ you, Gerard can't be trusted!" Derek took a step forward and I stepped back. "Do you get it yet? Everyone is dangerous! And Gerard is a _hunter!_ Do you really think he's going to let any of us get out of this alive?"

I shook my head, stuttering. "I—I don't know."

"Then _help_ me," Derek said, his tone urgent. I looked up at him and hesitated, briefly considering his offer. "Help me, and together we can beat them!"

I shook my head and tried to gather control, adrenaline coursing through my veins. "I don't know—"

"What?" Derek demanded, his voice overwhelming. "What don't you know, Savannah? You _know_ Gerard isn't going to let Jackson live! He's using him! He's using Scott!" He took a step forward and dropped his voice. "Don't let him use you, too."

I blinked rapidly, my mind spinning. "What do you mean he's _using_ Jackson?"

"I mean he's controlling him." Derek said, raising his eyebrow at my shock. "Yeah. _Now_ do you get it?"

"I—I have to go—" I breathed, stumbling around him, my head in a whirl and heart frantically racing.

Derek grabbed my arm. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

I looked back at his passionate gaze, at the—dare I say— _desperation_ he was displaying.

"I told you everything!" He exclaimed. " _Everything_ that I know. Can Scott say the same?"

I grew still, and for a brief moment, I closed my eyes. For a brief moment, I let myself consider the option. Do I leave Scott? Do I team up with Gerard to save us all? But that means I'm abandoning them. They're my friends. That means I'm abandoning—

Stiles face flashed through my mind, and my eyes snapped open when my heart clutched unexpectedly. I frowned and tried to imagine it. Team up with Derek. After everything they've done for me? Everything _Stiles_ has done for me?

I can't imagine even looking him in the face after doing that. I can't do it.

I shook my head, brushing his hand from my arm. "I can't do it," I finally said.

Derek was _pissed_. "Why?" He lowly demanded. "It can't be because of Scott. I know how you are about loyalty—and honesty. So what is—" He paused, his face suddenly clearing. He lifted his head and took a step back, watching me carefully. "Not _what_. Who."

I looked away from him.

"Stiles," Derek deduced, and I hesitated before weakly shaking my head. "Don't _lie_ to me. Don't even try."

"I can't do that to him," I said, my voice no louder than a whisper. "He's never…"

Derek took a step away and finally withdrew from me. I waited for him to say something, but he just watched me, his gaze harsh and intense. I took a step down the alley. "You're making a mistake, Savannah."

"I have to believe you're wrong." I clenched my jaw and finally started down the alley, the bricks passing in my peripheral vision.

"He's in love with her," Derek suddenly called after me, his voice not angry or judgmental. Just… as if he wanted to be sure we were clear. "You know that, right? He has been for years. That's not going to change."

I drew in a deep breath, my heart and stomach dipping with inexplicable sadness that I didn't expect. I touched my chest and I frowned in confusion at my emotions. I looked back at him. "Maybe you're right."

Derek's eyebrows knit together and his face darkened.

"But this isn't about them." I looked down and said, "It's about committing to something for once in my life. I have to believe in them. But this isn't an easy choice for me to make, because I don't _know_ if it's wrong. It _feels_ right though." Swallowing roughly, I met his gaze. "I hope you can understand that."

Derek stared at me, that signature frown on his face as he considered my words. He shook his head. "I don't."

I looked down and my throat tightened. Not for the first time, I was presented with the choice. Stay or walk away from Derek? He'd never been so honest with me. And, yet…

* * *

 ** _Fun tidbit! Lola Leon, the girl I picture Savannah looking like, is Madonna's daughter. If you didn't know that already. You might have, idk. More will be coming your way tomorrow! :)_**

 ** _The scene with Derek inviting Savannah back into his pack was suggested by my great friend,_** Julia M SnowMiko! _**Hope you liked it ^_^**_

 ** _Please leave a quick review telling me your thoughts!_**


	44. Fuck Maggie Melwood!

_**Was anyone else panicking that fanfiction was down earlier today? D: Because I definitely panicked.**_

 _ **I want to speed these days along, but there are some things that need to be established first. I hope it's okay with you guys!**_

 _ **More to follow shortly...**_

* * *

The lanky boy rapped his knuckles against the door, peeking back down the hallway at someone nervously. He whispered something, shook his head, and almost stepped away when the door was jerked open.

Mr. Harris stared down at the boy from his nose, his eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

The boy glanced away and pushed his glasses up, swallowing. "Hello, sir, sorry to disturb your class, sir."

"Out with it, Glenn." Harris demanded, and Glenn nodded eagerly.

"Yes sir, the office needs to talk to Scott McCall, sir."

"McCall?" Harris narrowed his eyes skeptically and suddenly leaned his head out of the doorway, knocking Glenn to the side to look around. Glenn grunted and stumbled to catch himself from falling, and Harris continued to watch the halls for someone to come out. When no one came, he slowly stood back and focused on Glenn with a suspicious glare. "I didn't get a call from the office. What do they want?"

"They didn't say much, sir. Something about an emergency with his mom." Glenn shifted anxiously and glanced over his shoulder.

Harris studied him unhappily. Scott suddenly popped beside Harris and pushed him to the side, a beaker in his hand.

"Something happened to my mom?" He said, and Harris frowned over at him.

"You're supposed to be in your seat, Mr. McCall."

Scott absently held his beaker out, a dark, reddish brown liquid staining the inside. "I was going to ask you what to do about this and I heard Glenn say the office needs me," He turned his attention onto Glenn. "Did they say anything about her at all? Is she alright?"

Glenn shrugged helplessly. "I'm just following orders," He said, as if he was a messenger in war or something. "Look, guys—sir—I really need to get back to study for my history final—"

"Okay…" Harris said, pointing at the two boys slowly. "Okay. I'm going to call the office, and if I call them and they have no idea what I'm talking about, you two will have hell to pay. Is that clear?"

Glenn sputtered nervously, but Scott only burst from the room and called something noncommittal over his shoulder as he hurried down the hall.

He rounded the corner and I thrust my arm out to clothesline him and knock him on the ground.

Scott blinked dazedly from the floor, his eyes unfocused and staring up. "Mom—" He muttered, blinking rapidly and suddenly frowning at me. "Savannah? I don't have time! I have to go—"

I took him by the hand and helped him up as Glenn anxiously approached us from behind. "Your mom is fine, Scott," I said, ignoring his confused and shocked expression to hold out the money to Glenn. "Really, Glenn? A history final? Those aren't until next month."

Glenn snatched the money from my hand and fixed me with a scathing glare. "I panicked, okay? Harris is gonna murder us, did you hear that? What am I gonna do? If I fail that class because of—"

"Relax, Glenn," I snapped, giving him a threatening scowl. "You got your money, right? Go buy some porn or something, platinum pass—"

"I can't get a platinum pass with this," Glenn said bitterly, waving the twenty in our face. "I can't even get a membership."

I raised my eyebrows with Scott and there was an uncomfortable pause, but Glenn seemed unashamed of what he'd just said. Finally, I replied, "That's not my problem, Glenn."

He narrowed his gaze and seemed to have something else to say, but I widened my eyes at him. "Get out of here!" I said loudly. He scowled and continued to ramble about getting in trouble as he started down the hall from us.

He pointed at me when he was a safe distance away. "So what if I study for my finals a month early?"

I lunged towards him and he suddenly took off down the hall with a screeching squeal of fright, but Scott restrained me and dragged me back in front of him. "Savannah, _what_ is going on? What's wrong with my mom?"

I struggled to pull my attention off of Glenn as he disappeared through the set of doors at the end of the hall, shaking my head at Scott. "God, when did the geeks get so freakin' ballsy?" I bitterly scoffed and shook my head to myself. "I am losing my touch, Scott. That's all there is to it—"

" _Savannah_." Scott took me by the shoulders and imploringly searched my face. " _What_ is going _on?_ "

"Shit, sorry." I shook my head and took a breath. "Your mom is fine. Probably. I actually have no idea, I just made that up to get you out of class."

He dropped his hands and stepped away, pushing his hands into his hair in panicked relief. "God, Savannah! What the hell is _wrong_ with you!? I thought something was happened to her!"

Guiltily, I tried to make light of the situation with a forced smile. " _Okay_ , okay, you're totally right! I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I mean, I _was_ , but that's just how I used to get people out of class when we wanted to get high. I used to do it all the time!"

Scott shook his head incredulously at me. "Seriously?"

I shrugged weakly. "I'm sorry! Every other time I did it, people hated their parents anyways. Or they knew it was a lie. I don't know," I shook my head.

He sighed and pinched his nose. "Why didn't you just stand outside the room and _tell_ me to meet you? I would've heard you! I could've said I needed to use the restroom!"

I paused dumbly and blinked.

 _Oh. I hadn't thought of that._

When I didn't reply immediately, Scott sighed sharply and shook his head. "Just forget it. What's this about?"

I took a breath and collected my thoughts. "Derek knows that you're working with Gerard."

Scott's face went blank with surprise.

"He also knows Gerard is controlling Jackson."

"What—" Scott was a mix between shock, distress, and fear. "How did he—how do _you_ —wait… _what?"_

I jerked my chin at him, hands on my hips. "You said we needed to talk. Let's talk."

Scott slowly processed this, eyes on the ground. A few moments passed and he looked up at me. "Not here. Come on." He took me by the arm and led us through the halls.

* * *

The school buzzed with talk of the championship game. It's like there was nothing else in the world that mattered—not even the disgusting lunch that they served today. In fact, I hadn't eaten a bite, and at this moment, I was regretting it. Stiles had said that the _Salisbury steak_ (which looked and smelled more like the bottom of a cooked foot) tasted pretty good when you asked for extra gravy.

Even the memory made my stomach roll. I shuddered in disgust and started the trek to Geometry, when something near the end of the hall caught my attention.

Danny was at his locker, gathering his things for his next class. I paused and backed up thoughtfully, my lip between my teeth as I briefly considered him. Taking a deep breath, I started towards him with my shoulders back.

He reached into his locker and pulled out a folder, and I stopped on the other side of the door. He closed it and jumped at my sudden appearance, a small gasp escaping his lips and his hand flying to his chest.

" _God_ , Savannah!" He huffed, his brown eyes rolling. "Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?"

My eyes narrowed and I asked him point blank. "Where is Maggie Melwood?"

Danny froze in place, the scowl twitching on his handsome face and his hand still clutching his burgundy shirt. He blinked and scrunched his face in confusion. "What?"

"Maggie Melwood," I reiterated. "Where is she? Where can I find her?"

"Um," Danny rolled his eyes like I was stupid. "ABC Family, with the rest of the trashy teen dramas."

My eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me? Is that some kind of passive aggressive reference I don't understand?"

Danny shifted the books to carry them at his side, glancing at some students as they passed around us in the hallway. "Maggie Melwood is a character in a show."

I frowned and looked down, my mind racing. She's a character? But… "No, she's in charge of the pep rally."

Danny snorted and grinned pityingly at me, pursing his lips into a mock pout. "Oh, Savannah… you're so weird, honey."

I shook my head. "I don't understand…"

"If you're talking about the pep rally this Thursday night, Brooke St. James is in charge of that. Along with everything else in this god forsaken school…" He explained as he backed away. "I have to get to class."

Absently, I thanked him and turned to step back into the flow of the hallway.

"For the record," Danny called, his head and arm poking over the crowd to point at me. "I still hate you!"

"Yeah, good talking to you, Danimal," I waved, and he flipped me off as I laughed and turned away, snapping my fingers and biting back a smile. That was the most civilized conversation Danny and I had shared in weeks.

It actually felt really great to have gotten through a conversation with him without either of us insulting each other. Although he did call me weird… but that was almost in an affectionate manner. Right?

In order to get to my Geometry class, I had to pass the auditorium. It was opened up and there seemed to be something happening. I ran a hand over my hair to smooth it and slowed to peek in. At this rate, I was bound to be late for class. But then again, I was late to school this morning—and I skipped the majority of my art history class to talk things over with Scott. What's one more class?

"Hey dude!" A guy with unfamiliar, shaggy blonde hair passed me to talk to his friend. He held a cup up high and cheered raucously. "They're serving root beer in there, man! _Actual_ root beer, with _real_ sugar! Not that diet, off brand crap—you better go grab some before they're out."

I changed course to approach the auditorium, hanging to the sides of the crowd that rushed in enthusiastically.

Up on the stage, a huge banner was displayed. A team of girls dressed in red and black were doing a choreographed dance to some pop song that I didn't recognize. In front of the stage there was a huge table with multiple cups of root beer that were being swarmed by students.

"Tell your family!" Brooke stood on the stage, pacing under the banner with an actual megaphone in her hands. Today, she wore an ensemble of blue and yellow, complete with a skirt and tights. Her glasses glinted under the lights as she thrust her fist in the air with every word. "Tell your coworkers! Tell your friends, and your gardeners! Tell the pizza guy and your bus drivers! Thursday night! A root beer drinking challenge!"

The girls behind her let out a loud cheer and she nodded and waved her arms with them to get the crowd cheering before continuing.

"Tell anyone you think can handle chugging _two liters,_ of root beer... without throwing up! And then, come to the rally and _kick their ass!"_

Loud cheers erupted from the students as they stopped to watch the dancers and listen to Brooke, cups in hand.

"Or, be like me, and take pictures when they throw up to share all over social media with the hashtag _cyclones don't quit_ and tag BHHS in the post! Do whatever the heck you want, dress up! Dress down! Come naked, be escorted off the premises by police officers and get your picture in the paper! We're young! Our records will be sealed," She paused to drop the megaphone from her mouth and pretended to regret what she said as the crowd humored her and let out an _Oooooooh._ Bringing the megaphone back to her mouth, she shook her head and said, "You didn't hear me say that." A few people in the crowd laughed. "Being arrested is bad. Having a record isn't funny, people—okay, that's all the time we have. Get to class, you crazy kids! Go forth my children!" She waved her hands at the crowd to mime pushing them along. "Go, become learned, and when you're finished, come to the pep rally Thursday night!"

The dancers behind her started to break up and make their way off stage. She turned around to wave at them briefly before she suddenly pointed up at someone in the control room over top me. "Jerry!" She said over the megaphone. "The light of my life, the apple of my eye… could you—" The lights went out on the stage and she threw a thumbs up to him. " _Beautiful_."

I shook my head and started to turn away, when suddenly Brooke pointed straight at me. My eyes widened and I turned around to rush through the doors, but then I heard, "Savannah Carmichael! Stop!"

I turned on my heels and scowled at some passing students as they gawked at me. Probably, they were surprised to hear Brooke St. James call my name over the megaphone.

"Please," She dramatically said, gesturing to the stage. "I would have words with you. Step into my office." The megaphone squealed out some feedback as she clicked it off and began to cross the stage. I lingered in the doorway and she cheerily waved her hand at me, beckoning me forward.

Lowly, I grumbled under my breath as I started down the aisle and made my way up to the stage. As I got closer I noticed more details of this brief little show she'd put on. For example, not only was there a table of root beer, there were also lanyards and tickets to the game on sale. Little cyclones had been drawn across most of the cups that were filled with the root beer.

When I was close enough, I called up to her. "Brooke St. James— _if_ that's even your real name."

She barked out a delicate laugh, practically skipping down the steps of the stage to make her way over to me. "What? Of course it's my name! Why would you say that?"

"Did _Maggie_ approve this little show?" I pointedly asked, looking directly at all the decorations displayed. Brooke immediately winced and slowed in her steps, eventually coming to a stop about six feet away from me. "Seems like a lot for someone who couldn't even step up and defend some signs for the pep rally."

"Okay," She guiltily relented, putting her hands up. "I felt so terrible about that! I really did! Lying makes me feel so icky. I'm usually reeeeaaaally bad at it," She admitted, her voice dropping an octave for emphasis.

"So why did you lie? It's not like I gave you a reason. I barely even know you!"

Brooke drew in a breath and tapped her colorfully painted nails against her equally brightly painted lips. "Yeah… that's true." She stopped tapping to point at me, rocking on her feet. "That's true."

Abruptly, Brooke started walking again. I felt like I was caught in a whirlwind as I struggled to keep up with her. She went to grab something from under the table, dropping to her hands and knees suddenly.

"Hey, you want some root beer? There's a lot left over, take some!"

Completely ignoring her offer, I pressed on. "Why did you lie about Maggie? The first thing you should know about me is that I _detest_ liars. You can't _trust_ a liar."

Brooke dragged a huge ladder out from under the table, the metal screeching against the concrete. "Fine," She sighed, sitting back on her legs when the ladder was far enough from the table. "The truth is, Maggie Melwood is a character. I used her to lie to you because _my_ mom is the one who funds the lacrosse team. She's the one who pours all the money into the school when she feels like she needs a leg up, or—geez, I don't know. Maybe it's to annoy me because I won't go to the boarding school three towns over." Brooke brushed her hair out of her eyes, the green streak popping under the lights of the auditorium, and shook her head. "The point is, I didn't want you to think I was trying so hard to impress my mom. Who would want to help _that_ person? You have no idea who I am. Do you know what that _feels_ like?"

I scrunched my face down at her and she scoffed quietly, looking away as she grabbed the ladder.

"What am I saying? Of course you don't, I'm crazy to complain about having a rich mother."

I frowned and mulled her words over as she struggled to carry the huge ladder over to the stage, stumbling slightly under its weight. It kept catching the ground and she almost tripped more than a couple times, muttering nonsensical curse phrases under her breath.

Wordlessly, I stepped forward and took the ladder out of her hands. Without looking at her, I flipped the ladder over, unfolded it, and plopped it on the ground below the banner. I squinted my eyes up at it. "Why's it say _We're Rootin' For You?"_

Brooke brightened at me, and the bell rang as she went around to grab the ladder so she could start climbing up. "Because I'm organizing a root beer drinking competition at the pep rally. What do students love to get?"

I suddenly understood, nodding up at her. "Ahhh, I get it. The free root beer you served."

"Yeah," She breathed, stretching her hand out to reach the top of the banner and remove the tack. "Heads up!" She called, and I held my hand out to catch it without needing to think about it. "Hey, good catch! Jinkies, you're quick."

"Great reflexes," I nonchalantly dismissed, choosing not to comment on the fact that she'd just said _jinkies_ as I pointed up at a corner. "I drink a lot of milk."

Brooke huffed flatly at me and I pointed at a corner of the banner.

"Missed a tack."

She reached up to grab it and let it, and half of the banner, drop with a loud flutter. She watched to see if I caught the tack. When I did, she chirped happily in amusement. "You should be on the team!"

I snorted and shifted uneasily. "Yeah," I laughed. "That's what I keep saying!"

"Next year you should try out." She pointed at the opposite side of the banner, where it now dangled lowly from the wall. "Wanna grab that for me?"

I walked over and listened as she continued to explain the show she put on. Brooke figured that if enough kids stopped by to see this little show, they'd have a better turn out for the pep rally. It was also an opportunity to use our _very_ under utilized dance team; give them some much needed practice. In return, they'd do the half time at the championship game. Also, the little show today was free publicity for the game in general. Even if kids didn't come to see the drinking contest, they'd still had an opportunity to buy tickets to the game Friday night.

"People think that I try as hard as I do to put these things on so I'll impress my mom. But that's not it, I want to get kids excited about school—the way things are _meant_ to be. You know? It's like, kids have it bad enough. Why should school be making it worse for them?"

My eyebrows had probably disappeared into my hairline at this point. Using the banner as an excuse to turn away from her glaring _good_ _intentions_ , I yanked the banner down with a harsh rip. I handed it back over to her and crossed my arms as she bounced restlessly on her heels. "Did you say you needed more posters?"

Brooke smiled widely at me.

* * *

Nights at the Stilinski house had been thrown way off track. I did everything I could to avoid seeing the sheriff because he couldn't find out that my leg was healed. Usually, we had started to all sort of have dinner together. Sheriff would get the food—whether that meant ordering in or making something really quick—and while Stiles and I worked on our homework, we would grab some dinner to eat.

The sheriff had done a pretty good job of keeping things clean around the house in his time off, too. Since he got his badge back, Stiles had taken it upon himself to pick up the slack. Sheriff was working double-time at the station—staying over late, going in early—in order to make up for lost time. Apparently things had deteriorated in his absence. Paper work built up, officers slacked on their duties… not to mention the mess he had to clean from the incident with Matt.

He wouldn't talk to us about it, but it was obvious that the job was wearing on him. After all, the officers who were shot needed to be replaced. In the mean time, sheriff was doing the work of nine other people. He had funerals to attend, hospitals to visit, condolences to accept, interviews to give to the press, plus all the usual responsibilities that the sheriff of Beacon Hills had, and now, he had two teenagers living in his home. He's so busy that it's easy for me to avoid him. I justified it to myself by considering that, A: He's got bigger things to worry about than how I'm doing. B: There's no need for him to be blindsided with the supernatural at this point in his life, if he were to somehow discover my healed knee. C: If there's anyone he needs to maintain a relationship with, it's his son. Not me. So in a way, I'm doing both of us a favor. I'm doing _everyone_ a favor. He shouldn't have to worry about me, too.

That being said, I missed him. Ever since that first morning, I made a conscious effort to wake myself before he left so I could listen to him move around in the mornings. It's the only time of the day I could check in on him. The only time of the day that I could feel protected… that I could feel cared for, as he leaned over the couch before he left in the mornings to check that I still breathed. Or, I guess that's what he was checking. I think he checks on me for the same reason that I wake up to listen to him.

Tonight, sheriff called to say he would be missing dinner, and in fact, he wouldn't be making it back home until early morning. It was a golden opportunity for me to not have to be conscientious of my every move. Finally—I can relax and just be.

At the moment, I had posters spread around me on the floor of the living room. I'd found the box of sharpies I used to label the Asshole Jar (which had collected quite a healthy little cache) and outlined neat block letters.

"Hey," Stiles said as he passed through the living room.

I hummed at him and leaned back from the poster to tilt my head thoughtfully, examining the proportions. The marker made a squeaking noise as I thickened one of the curves in a letter.

Stiles emerged from the kitchen with two bottles of apple juice, resting over the back of the couch to bump my shoulder with one of the bottles. I finished my line before I took the proffered drink with a small groan of appreciation. "A gentleman after my own heart," I teased, throwing him a smile over my shoulder. His eyes flicked over my face with a smile and he jerked his chin down at the posters.

"What're those for?"

I turned back to look at the posters and drew my bottom lip between my teeth. Sighing, I ran my hand over my hair as I responded. "It's for the pep rally."

I feel his snort even before it happened, and I reached back to smack him without turning around. "The _pep_ rally?"

"Don't even start with me," I said, throwing him a dirty look, though there was no venom in it. "It's a long story."

He rolled over the back of the couch and tried to smoothly land next to me, but ended up smacking the carpet with his back, his legs sprawled across the posters and arm flying into the back of my head.

"Oh my _god_ ," I whined, pushing him off me. "You're like a seven year old, I swear!"

He laughed and purposefully leaned into me, making me lose balance. I shoved him off and growled at his snicker.

Stiles lifted his head and swung his limbs around until he was sat beside me with his legs stretched out, his heels still pressed into a poster. I was about to tell him to move his feet when he asked me who Maggie Melwood was.

The first poster I made was outlined in silver marker, and it was more extravagant than the others, reading _Fuck Maggie Melwood!_

I pressed my lips together to hide my smile, shaking my head at the poster. "It's a long story." I glanced back over at Stiles and laughed at his expression.

"Well if she's worthy of _that_ I wanna know who she is."

"She's a character in an ABC Family show."

Stiles took a breath that sounded eerily like his dad when he was tired of our shit and realized he didn't want to know after all. "Can I help?"

"Ummm…" I thought back to all the times I'd seen him try to draw pictures. They didn't get very far past stick figures and the handwriting of an illiterate ninety-year-old. The posters were already really neat, the edges tidy and precise. Honestly, they were pretty much finished.

I handed him a sharpie and he tried to grab it, but I yanked it back slightly at the last second. He glared at me and I smirked. "Try to stay in the lines."

He rolled his eyes and I passed him the marker. Stiles opened the marker and looked the posters over. "Hey, Savannah."

I looked at him and flinched at the last second—but it was too late. The marker smeared across my nose and I sputtered as I ducked away. Stiles grinned proudly at me and I pushed his face away. " _Very_ nice, asshole." He snickered and I huffed and scrubbed at my nose. "This better wash off..."

Stiles hummed as he dragged a poster closer, knocking his knee against mine. "Nah. It looks cute."

My breath caught in my throat and I made a point of turning away as my heart jumped violently, reaching blindly for a poster to busy myself. I grumbled moodily to myself and Stiles laughed.

"Did you know that you sound like an old man when you do that?"

I grunted and forced myself not to look at him, my face still heated.

"Exactly." His marker squeaked, and even though I was dying to see what he was doing to my hard work, I definitely didn't turn around.

I rubbed at my nose again and chewed my lip. Maybe he didn't _mean_ it how it sounded… I mean, it's a huge black mark—it has to be. It's definitely not _cute_. He was just being a smart ass. I sighed and shook my head.

"So how did you get roped into this?"

For want of something to do, I decided to shade the letter in. "I volunteered."

He snorted. "Why?"

"Because I'm a nice person."

A beat passed before I couldn't keep it together, my resolve cracking as I barked out a laugh. Stiles echoed me and I elbowed him without turning around. He gasped and I turned around.

"What?" I looked him over, but it didn't seem like I'd hurt him or anything. I tried to take a look at his poster but he blocked my vision.

"Uh—so—what _really_ made you do this?"

"Well, I met this girl name Brooke St. James and she seemed like she could use some help, so I thought I'd make some posters for her."

He made a sound of understanding and then paused. "H-How important was the O?"

I whipped around and pushed him to the side. One of the sides had a huge, jagged line jutting out from it. "Stiles!"

"It wasn't my fault!" He quickly defended, nudging me. "You elbowed my arm!"

I sighed through my nose and pouted at the letter. "Well… We can just turn it over."

Moving around the letters, I plopped down across from him and flipped the white poster over. Stiles opened his marker and I pointed up at him. "Don't. Touch anything."

He put his hands up and sat back, watching as I started to sketch out a large oval. "Hey—have you…" He broke off, sounding conflicted. I glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow, not pressing him, but letting the silence encourage him to ask his question. "I mean, you seem okay."

I frowned down at the letter without looking up. "Do I?"

He nodded. "It's just… doesn't it bother you? Everything that happened at the station?"

I sighed and paused from my work to give him my undivided attention. "Yes."

He blinked at me. "You hide it _unbelievably_ well, if that's true."

The corner of my mouth pulled into half a frown. "That's my specialty." I narrowed my eyes and looked his face over, really paying attention. His mouth was twisted downward at the corner, his shoulders and neck permanently tensed. I sat back and cleared my face. "You're upset."

He blinked and shook his head. "No, not—exactly. I'm not upset, I'm…." He sighed. "I'm fine."

I frowned at him. "You don't have to do that." Stiles watched me, deliberately still. "Not with me. I'm the _queen_ of angst," I said with a bitter smirk, and his lips twitched, but he didn't smile. "And I don't blame you if that whole experience threw you off."

Stiles huffed and put the marker down on the carpet, bringing his fingers up to absently chew at his nails. My eyebrows rose, almost imperceptibly. _That's new._ "He _shot_ you."

I snorted in surprise, studying his anxious face before I reached down to tug the hem of his basketball shorts up. "See? I'm fine." I tilted my head at him. "What about you?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm fine."

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up."

He snorted in surprise and the clock chimed behind us, snapping the flow of the conversation. It seemed to snip some imaginary thread that formed between us, and Stiles sat back and shook his head. "Let's talk about something else."

I sighed, and even though I wanted to push it, I brought my feet towards me and crossed my legs over each other. "If you want to."

Stiles stretched back and spread his arms over the couch. "Tell me something I don't know about you."

I narrowed an eye at him and tilted my head. "You know me."

Stiles scoffed, unimpressed, his head leaning back on the couch as he said, "Everyone who knows you, knows that they don't _really_ know you."

I blinked at that. Is that what he thinks? That he doesn't know me? But how could I blame him? He really doesn't know anything about my past. But my past… it's not something I can just _tell._ It's not something that I can explain in a simple sentence, or paragraph.

But he's asking. And that's more than anyone has ever done before. I took a breath and swallowed tightly, running my fingers over the carpet. "What do you want to know?"

Stiles hummed thoughtfully before raising his head back up to look at me. He looked over my face and I could tell he was fighting back a smirk when he looked at my nose where the black mark was. "Who's your favorite actor?"

I blinked again. "Uh… Robin Williams."

"Movie?" He asked, shifting so that his arm was propping his head up against the couch.

I sighed. So this is gonna be one of _those_ conversations. "Dead Poet's Society."

"Favorite quote from that movie."

"Seize the day. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold and die."

I don't think he expected me to have an exact quote memorized, because his face wore a shocked and slightly amused expression. Eventually, he said, "How nice."

I laughed and mirrored his position against the couch, drawing my knee up to grab it. "Your turn."

He nodded at me. "Go."

"Favorite time of year."

"Summer."

"Favorite month."

"July."

"Favorite time of day."

"Night. Your turn." He crossed his arms. "Favorite article of clothing."

I scrunched my face in amusement, but answered anyways. "Jean jackets."

"Not leather?" He asked, his eyebrows rose.

I pursed my lips into a frown and shook my head.

He nodded thoughtfully and looked away. "Favorite smell."

I paused. "Crayons and laundry detergent."

Stiles scrunched his face. "The combination?"

Smiling secretively, I shook my head. "Separately."

"Body part."

"Hands. Your turn," I stretched my legs out and drew in a contemplative breath. "Favorite childhood toy."

"Walkie-talkie."

"Could've guessed," I smirked, and he gestured for me to ask another. "Favorite pet peeve."

"That's an oxymoron," He noted, as if that should change my question. I stared at him and he sighed. "When people click their pens and _won't_ stop. It drives me crazy."

I suddenly wished I had a pen nearby, but there were only markers. His eyes flew down to the marker in my hand knowingly and I smirked and breathed out a laugh as he slowly grinned, shaking his head.

"You know you hold your markers like a cigarette?"

I looked down at the way the marker was stuck between my pointer and middle finger, my thumb balancing the end. I flicked it with my thumb and shrugged. "Habit."

And we spent the rest of the night like that, for as long as we dared. Trading stories. Trying to outdo each other with quotes, pointing out each other's strange little quirks and sharing our favorite things in life. I think Stiles was just trying to distract himself from whatever had been weighing on him the past few days, but I found that it was something I was sorry to see end.

For some reason, I was sad after he went to bed. It felt like… for the first time in my life, I knew what it was to care for someone more than they cared for you. And it hurts. So I wrote in my journal until I heard the sheriff's car pull into the drive, not even needing to turn out a light because my enhanced vision had allowed me to write in the dark. Checking to make sure the blankets covered my leg, I lie on the couch and stared at the walls until morning.


	45. CHAPTER 50, BLAST THE CONFETTI CANNONS!

_**CHAPTER FIFTY! *BLASTS GONNA MAKE YOU SWEAT BY C+C MUSIC FACTORY* ~ EVERYBODY DANCE NOW!**_

 _ ***Confetti rains down* WE DID IT! Yay for fifty chapters of angst, attitude, fluff, drama, and... er, angst! :D?**_

 _ **[Uses this opportunity as an excuse for an absurdly long Author's Note.]**_

 _ **Yeah, so, last time I definitely forgot to point out that the scene when Savannah paid Glenn to get Scott out of class was inspired by Freaks and Geeks. I was watching it the other night and I thought it sounded like something Savannah would do, so, you know. :)**_

 _ **This is the last chapter before the game! Wooooooo! Thank you guys for the continued support. You're all awesome :) I'm glad you all seem to be enjoying the developing feelings that are happening aboard ship Stavannah. OH, that reminds me! This chapter, Savannah is a bit of a grumpy cat. (What's new, right?) I would just like to say that it's partly because, at this point, she realizes that she feels**_ ** _something_ _for Stiles. But she has no idea what it is, and it scares her. Especially since he still seems fixated on Lydia. Derek even reminded her of that! (thanks a lot, Derek) And for all intents and purposes, that means Stiles shouldn't be saying cute shit to her. So she's frustrated and confused._**

 ** _Also, it's pretty late to be mentioning this, but is all un-beta...ed? XD So if there have been glaringly blatant mistakes, slash if there are any in the future, that would be why. If you want to beta this though, let me know! Maybe you can help me get my writing under control, lol._**

 ** _Okay. Just wanted get that out there. Excuse the long note._**

 _ **Please leave a review before you go!**_

* * *

I was in a mood today. Stiles had taken note rather quickly when he said good morning, and I brushed past him and closed the bathroom door in his face. I'm not mad at him or anything, it's just that… maybe I am, just a little. After all, I'm exhausted and it's _entirely_ his fault. I didn't get a wink of sleep last night because I couldn't stop playing that stupid comment of his over in my head. _Cute?_ The black mark he put on my nose was _cute?_ Why would he say that? It took ten minutes to scrub off!

And then, when we pulled into the parking lot at school, he did something that completely knocked me off my feet. He _gave me_ a _key_ to his _house_. He'd pulled it out of his pocket almost as an afterthought just as I was about to get out of the vehicle and held it out to me—and suddenly, I was cemented to the leather seats, my eyes honed in on the dangling silver thing.

"For you," He'd said, holding it by the chain it was attached to. "So you can finally let yourself in."

"You're giving me a key to your house?" I asked, careful to keep emotion from my voice.

Stiles looked at me strangely and then took a breath. "Well, the time you broke in because you wanted to get your journal was a little weird." He paused, lightly adding, "And insulting. You shouldn't just _break_ into the sheriff's house like that, Savannah—"

I raised an eyebrow challengingly at him and he stared at me with his mouth open for a few beats before closing it and letting out a sigh. "Just… Next time, use the key, Superthief."

Slowly, I took it. And then he reached in the back seat, grabbed his backpack, and slid out of the jeep, telling me to hurry up before I was late to my classes. _Again_.

 _Asshole!_

I trailed after him across the parking lot at a much slower pace, the keychain squeezed tightly in my fist. Stiles started to say something to me, thinking I was beside him, and when he found that I wasn't next to him he cut off in confusion and turned around.

When he spotted me, his features dropped in exasperation. "Alright," He grumbled, as if I was being _difficult._ My nose snarled in annoyance as he promptly walked behind me, took me by the shoulders, and pushed me towards the entrance a little faster. "Come on, let's go."

Obstinately, I dug my heels into the pavement with every step to make it harder for him to push me. He grunted and wheezed out a tense laugh, somewhat embarrassed that I was able to make him work for it so hard.

"Heh," He said, this time a little more awkwardly. "What, do you have s _pikes_ on the bottom of your boots?"

I laughed, the anger in my chest lifting slightly, and was about to reply as we finally entered the school when suddenly a cup of something-to-go was thrust in my face. I grabbed it on instinct, blinking as whatever I was about to say to Stiles died on my lips. Brooke followed the cup closely behind, popping in front of us to chirp out a pleasant, "Hi!"

I blinked at her and looked her over. Every day I saw her, it was like a little game of _what is Brooke going to wear today?_ She had a black pencil skirt with a thick band of neon yellow fabric at the bottom, a grey t-shirt with a black and neon yellow owl face, black tights with neon fishnet over the top, and with all the accessories she had to match, I wondered if her arms and head were tough to move. "I hope you like tea!" She continued, her eyes flashing to the hands on my shoulders, up the arms attached, and landed on Stiles' face. She paused and glanced briefly at me. "Oh! Stiles Stilinski! I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd be with her this morning, I didn't get you anything."

"I don't." I flatly said, and Stiles squeezed my shoulders and laughed uncomfortably.

"What?" Brooke asked.

"I don't like tea."

"Oh!" Unperturbed, she quickly switched out the cup in my hand for a different one, and without even having to ask I could smell the coffee that wafted from it. "That's okay, I got this just in case." And then she held the tea to Stiles. "Tea?"

"Uh—no, thanks."

She smiled widely at him and her eyes focused back on his hands, turning to me with a knowing tilt of her head. "You have something on your nose," She quietly informed me, tapping her nose with her heavily ringed finger.

I growled and Stiles suddenly let go of my shoulders. "Gotta go!" He waved at us as he quickly fled into the crowd, pointing at Brooke. "Good to see you, Brooke!"

" _Owl_ be seeing you," She called, gesturing enthusiastically to her shirt. His eyebrows shot up and he glanced at me and kept his face polite, his eyes dancing with amusement as he nodded at her. She watched him, head tilted, until he disappeared. And then, slowly, she turned back to me with her tilted head and blinked. "You _love_ him."

I nearly dropped the coffee, scowling at her. "What?"

"That's so sweeeeeeet," She cooed, bouncing excitedly on her heels. "I'm gonna die! How long have you two been together? I thought he was obsessed with Lydia Martin! More than the average guy, too, I mean, _wow!_ I had no idea! Seriously! And I know _every_ thing about _every_ one!"

My eye twitched as my mind immediately turned to the fact that she was speaking to a werewolf. "Is that so?"

She nodded and gave a happy sigh, pressing her hands together. "I _fully_ support you guys."

I drew in a deep breath, counted to five, and squeezed the keychain. "You can relax," I muttered. "We're not together."

Brooke's face shifted into surprise, and then just as quickly, fell into deep sympathy as her tone turned solemn. "Oh."

My lip snarled and I stepped around her. Sounds of sandals smacking the hall filled my ears as she quietly walked next to me. I made a point of not looking at her, taking a drink of the coffee to busy myself. She was suspiciously unobtrusive as she tagged along beside me, sending me sidelong, gloomy gazes. I managed to keep quiet as we ascended the first set of stairs and stepped onto the second floor. By the time she had sighed three times, my resolve cracked. "What?" I snapped.

Brooke looked like she was holding back a miserable wail. "It's just so _sad!_ You like him _so_ much!"

"Shut _up_ ," I hissed, and she drew in a deep breath and collected herself. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm sorry," She said, visibly clearing her features as she bounced on her heels. "Let's forget it, okay? I'll just—" She cleared her throat and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, apparently fighting back her emotions, and sighed as she looked back at me. "Pretend not to know."

I sighed heavily and nodded once, turning to continue down the hall. And if it had ended there, it would've been fine. But then she _had_ to push it.

"Like you are."

I whirled around, my eyes aflame with unchecked anger, and a warning growl rumbled from my throat. Brooke stepped back in shock and actually looked a little intimidated, and seeing her back down made me pause, my growl catching. Looking over her deliberately still form, I realized it was the most immobile I'd ever seen her. Something about it unsettled me and I straightened up and huffed at her, turning to trek angrily down the hall.

She didn't follow me.

* * *

I stared down at the essay in front of me in complete and total bafflement. Across the paper, in bright blue ink, the teacher had written, " _Fantastic! Welcome to the class!"_ directly next to a bold blue _A._

Stiles was chewing absently on his pen beside me, flipping through his novel as his knee bounced. I just stared down at the paper, unblinking. Watching for it to change. Waiting for the mirage to dissipate.

"Hey, maybe she wants to ask you where you got your amazing shirt?" Stiles suddenly suggested. The teacher had asked to speak with me after class as soon as Stiles and I walked in, and ever since, he's been trying to guess what it could be about. So far, he'd suggested that she secretly has a drug addiction and was hoping to blackmail me for the names of my drug dealers, or she has a crush on me, or she wants to congratulate me on coming to class for six consecutive times in a row— _on purpose_ —or she's going to break bad and wants some advice… the list goes on.

Without looking away from the paper, I flatly said, "This is _your_ shirt, Stiles."

He sniggered knowingly. "True, but when you wear it, it looks a lot better."

I looked away from the paper to frown at him, but his eyes were fixed on the essay under my hand.

"Hey—" He dropped the pen from his mouth and pushed my hand to the side. " _What!"_ His voice escalated three octaves, and he tried to snatch the essay out from under my fist. "Is that an A? That's an A, right, I'm not hallucinating this?"

I blinked back down at the page and frowned again. "I was hoping you could tell me."

He tried to pull it out from under my fist but I wouldn't budge. His hand yanked it futilely and he finally gave up with a sharp sigh, throwing his hands in the air. "I can't tell you if you don't let me see it!"

Tightly, and _slowly_ , I unclenched my fist one finger at a time. He gripped the paper and pulled at it, and I grit my teeth and finally relieved the pressure to allow him to take it. He almost flew off his seat, but regained balance and ignored the looks that students threw him as he eagerly flipped through the pages.

"Holy crap," He murmured. "She wrote all over this thing!"

"So it's not an A," I dejectedly sighed.

"No, it is. Are you listening?"

I looked at him and he gave me wide eyes.

"She _loved_ your paper."

My lip snarled up and I grunted, uncomfortable with the praise. "Why?"

"Who cares!" He laughed, shaking his head as he flipped through the pages again. "You know, my essay was three pages longer than yours and she didn't give me nearly as many notes." His lips puffed out and he paused. "Hmph."

"That's probably because she _expects_ good work from you," I bitterly pointed out, and Stiles raised an eyebrow at me. "I bet she thinks I cheated."

Stiles paused and looked over at the teacher. She was typing on her computer, facing away from us, but she reached back to grab something from her desk and when she did she caught our stares. She looked at me with a wide smile and winked.

Stiles looked back at me. "Nah, she definitely wants to know where you got your shirt from."

I barked out a surprised laugh and he grinned at me, nudging me with his elbow in encouragement.

" _Relax_ , Savannah. All my hard work has finally paid off."

My eyebrows rocketed up and I turned to give him a face that said, _Is that right?_

He nodded and flipped the essay back to the title page, brushing it off cockily. "Finally."

I snorted and pushed him roughly, knocking him out of his seat.

At the end of class, Stiles and I lingered behind as the rest of the students gathered their things to leave. The teacher was erasing the board and I was taking my time to put away my notes and stack my books and folders.

Stiles stood nearby with his hand on his hip, his other hand holding his own books. He fixed me with a knowing stare that I actively pretended not to see. Any second now, he'd start tapping his foot.

"Savannah." He said, and I looked up at him innocently. "Do you want me to come with you?"

I scoffed and looked away, casually organizing the books so the folders were on bottom because the novel was smaller. Stiles simply stood there as I cleared my throat, my smirk tightening to a preoccupied pinch. "Don't be ridiculous. You'll be late for class."

"That doesn't matter. If you want me to, I'll be there."

I sniffed down at the books without looking up, my body tense as I nodded once and grabbed my books to make my way to the front of the class. Wordlessly, Stiles shadowed me.

The teacher, Mrs. Hillary, turned around with the whiteboard eraser in her hand. She smiled at me and glanced back at Stiles. "Ms. Carmichael, thank you for waiting." Her gaze focused on Stiles. "Mr. Stilinski?"

"Uhhh, I'm just here for—" He glanced at me. "Moral support?"

Mrs. Hillary looked between us and nodded slowly, her gaze focusing on me. "Well, okay. But you're not in trouble, Ms. Carmichael. There's really no call for back up."

"Is it a problem if he's here?"

Mrs. Hillary blinked at me, her lips pursed, and finally said, "Well, no…"

I tilted my head and shrugged a shoulder.

She watched us for a few more seconds and seemed to finally give in with a sigh. Turning back to the board, she placed the eraser down and brushed her hands off.

"I wanted to see you because you did remarkably well on your paper. It was one of the most impressive analyses I've ever had the pleasure to read, and undoubtedly the best work you've ever turned in to this class before." She paused and considered something as she went to sit in her chair at her desk. "One of the _only_ things you've turned in for this class."

I rubbed at my nose and shifted anxiously on my feet, the urge to just turn around and leave nearly overwhelming. "Okay…"

Mrs. Hillary seemed off-put at my reaction, but she didn't comment as she sat back in her chair. "Do you have the paper with you?"

"Aren't you going to ask me if it's plagiarized?"

Her eyebrows rocketed and she stared up at me. Behind me, I heard Stiles smack his forehead. She glanced between us. "Is it?"

I pressed my lips together and glanced away. "...No."

Amusement colored her features. "I thought so. Can I see your paper, please?"

I set my books down on her desk, flipping through until I found the essay. Awkwardly, I handed it over to her and she took it with a smile.

As she looked it over, I glanced back at Stiles, who wordlessly nodded at me and gave me a reassuring wink. I sighed, some of the tension draining from my muscles, and turned back when Mrs. Hillary drew in a breath.

"Your interpretation of Jack was inspired."

I almost flinched upon hearing that name out loud, but managed to tamper it into my fists tightening at my sides. Stiles shifted behind me and I clenched my teeth, staring at Mrs. Hillary and waiting to hear where she was going with this.

She seemed curious at my lack of reaction, tilting her head as she tapped my paper. "I've never seen a student lend him sympathy before. In fact… it's almost as though you pity him." I blinked at her and glanced away.

"I just understand him."

She frowned at me and crossed her arms. "Go on."

I hesitated and glanced to the side, suddenly extremely conscious of the fact that Stiles had stayed for this. He helped me keep the motivation to read the book and see the essay through, but we hadn't really discussed what I thought of its content.

"Well, they're all kids, right?"

She nodded and I shifted, pausing. I inhaled deeply and threw caution to the wind. _Fuck it._

"So they were stranded on an island in the middle of a war. Their plane was literally _shot_ out of the sky, I mean, they were _traumatized_." I ran a hand over my hair and shook my head. "They waited for someone to come save them. They held out hope that someone would come find them; that they'd realize the plane went missing and help would come soon. They even set up a signal fire just in case."

"So how does your sympathy for Jack fit into that?"

I glanced back at Stiles, who watched me with a slightly surprised expression.

Well… I'm in this far. I can't just _leave_ it now.

I turned back and lifted my chin. "The central question of the novel is what would happen if a group of children are marauded on an island. No adults, no supervision or guidance. No structure. It—" I broke off and looked down at my boots. "It's a lot like what happens to orphans," I said, quieter. "Without someone around to teach you right from wrong, I can imagine how easy it would be to let your baser impulses control you. He was a natural leader, sort of like Ralph—he was a bully, true—but a leader. In civilization, he'd be the kid on the playground that took the geek's lunch money and left him with a wedgie. But to place him on an island full of children who are looking for someone to take charge…" I shook my head again, sadly this time. "What he ended up becoming just makes sense to me. It's not that I agree with what he did, I can just… understand how it happened." I frowned suddenly, my voice rising. "And, yeah. Maybe I do pity him. Because I wonder what might've happened to him if he was given a fair chance."

Mrs. Hillary put her hands up neutrally, "Hey, I'm not criticizing you or trying to challenge your opinion. As I said, I admire it. I think you've got a real talent here, Savannah."

That stunned me into silence. My mouth clamped shut and I grappled with how to react, unused to not having to defend myself when I'm called up to a teacher's desk after class. Mrs. Hillary smiled warmly and held my essay back out to me.

"Have you written anything before?"

My mind flashed to the journal on the coffee table back at the house. Tongue dry, I shook my head. "Not really," I admitted.

She raised her eyebrows at me. "Maybe you should consider taking my Creative Writing class next year. I really think it would be good for you to explore that side of yourself. Test your boundaries—see how far you can take it. You might be surprised."

I took the paper from her with a small frown. "It's an _essay_."

"And a damn good one," She nodded, and Stiles breathed out a laugh behind me. I brought the pages back to my chest and looked down. "Keep up the work, Ms. Carmichael. It's nice to finally see the girl behind the mask."

In the hallway, as Stiles and I walked to the stairs to get to our lockers, he batted my arm. "I _told_ you!"

I rolled my eyes at him. "You said she was going to ask me about your shirt."

"Well, I knew you weren't in trouble." He nodded confidently at me and I felt a grin begging to be let out on my face as he nudged me continuously. "See? My hard work really _did_ pay off. All that tutoring—all those hours spent forcing you to read—"

"Shut _up_ ," I snorted, shoving him off me.

* * *

I walked to the front door the that night with two pizza boxes in my arm and a bag of breadsticks hanging of my wrist. Initially, I wondered how I'd break in. Sheriff was going to put in more overtime at the station tonight, which means we'd have to fend for ourselves for dinner. Hence the pizza. I set the food down on the porch and was about to find a window to break into when the key flashed through my mind.

Stuffing my hand into my pocket, I pulled out the keychain and looked at it with a sigh. There was something inherently wrong with me having a _key_ to the _Sheriff's_ house. Shaking it off, I unlocked the door and gathered the things from the porch to step inside. There was another half an hour before the pep rally, so I figured Stiles would be home at about that time.

Carrying the boxes into the kitchen, I deposited the bag and pizza onto the table and propped the tops open. The heavenly scent of sweet pineapple, salty ham and cheese, tangy sauce and garlic crust wafted towards my nose and made my mouth water. I hummed and grabbed a piece, shoving it eagerly into my face and letting out a groan of appreciation.

"Want me to leave you two alone?" Stiles dryly said from behind me, and I gasped and the pizza lodged itself in my throat.

I dropped the slice on the table and hacked violently, and Stiles cursed as he rushed up behind me and grabbed me around the waist. He gave me a rough squeeze and the pizza flew out of my mouth with a loud choke, and I bent at the waist with a violent gasp. Stiles immediately let me go so I could breathe unrestrictedly.

"Are you okay?" He frantically asked, and I wheezed and breathlessly shook my head, my eyes watering. Stiles put his arm around my shoulders and started apologizing profusely.

I pushed him away and turned around, my hand smacking his cheek lightly. He sputtered and stumbled back as I croaked out, "You almost killed me!" And then I grabbed his shirt and jerked him towards me, placing a kiss on his cheek before shoving him away roughly. "Asshole!"

He choked out a disbelieving laugh and grabbed his cheek, his face flaming red. "I'm confused—are you mad—or—"

I huffed out a disgruntled growl and pointed down at the bag. "I got you cheesy breadsticks, too."

He gasped delightedly, momentarily distracted as he rooted through the paper bag in excitement. "Those are my favorite!"

"I know," I grumbled, brushing past him to go grab some plates from the cabinets.

Stiles head popped out of the bag and he frowned slightly. "Hey, look, I'm sorry about the pizza, okay? I didn't mean to scare you. You're a werewolf, anyways! You're supposed to _sense_ when I'm around—"

"This whole place smells like you, I couldn't smell you unless you were literally on top of me," I sighed, shaking my head. "And it's not you."

"Oh." Stiles glanced to the side, his hands gripping the bag of cheesy breadsticks. "Well… what happened?"

I pressed my lips tightly together and set the plates on the counter, taking a slow breath. Finally, I shook my head and rubbed at my nose. "I don't know," I lowly admitted. "I've been like this all day."

Stiles set the cheesy breadsticks down and busied himself with grabbing a napkin from the wooden holder on the table. At first I thought I'd said the wrong thing, and I looked down and frowned at the plates for a moment. "I know what you mean," He said, and I looked up as he shrugged a shoulder. "I mean… I've been constantly reminding myself that it's over all week. What happened at the station—it's over, Matt's dead, my dad got his job back, no one else has been murdered—it's over. I mean…" He looked up at me. "It's over… right?"

I drew a blank. Stiles looked at me with a clouded sort of desperation, that flighty, tense disposition grabbing hold of him again. I'd seen glimpses of it all week when he thought I wasn't looking, and most prevalently last night when he asked me if the events at the station bothered me. But I didn't know how to answer that question. Is it over? In a sense, it is. Matt's gone, so that part of the whole thing is over. But the fact remains that Scott and I, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Derek… we're still werewolves. That's not going away. And neither is the supernatural, or Gerard. What happened to Jackson? We hadn't even spoken about him really. And how about Allison? I hadn't seen her at school all week. After hearing what happened to her mom, it was understandable.

So _is it_ over?

I sighed and looked back at Stiles. "I don't know," I admitted. Stiles seemed to have expected that answer, his jaw clenching as he nodded and looked down. Still, he seemed a bit disappointed. As if he had hoped maybe I'd lie, or cushion the truth for him. "I'm not going to…. Lie to you, and say that I don't feel it too. Or pretend that just because Matt isn't controlling Jackson anymore then it's all a lot simpler. The truth is, I don't _know_ what comes next. I don't know what's waiting around the corner for us—but for the first time today, a teacher pulled me aside to tell me that I did a job well done."

Stiles eyes fluttered slightly and he looked down, breathing out a tense, short laugh as he nodded. He looked pale, and tired. And afraid. And I hated that for him.

"Tomorrow is the championship game, and you can try to hide it all you want, but I've seen you washing that jersey like a compulsive freak."

He rolled his eyes and a grudging smirk twitched at his lips.

"I've also seen you practicing in the backyard." His eyes widened, but I didn't give a chance to say anything as I went on. "I'm assuming that's why you're not at the pep rally?" He froze, caught red-handed, and I pressed on. "So you can practice outside without anyone seeing you, for whatever reason, because practicing the sport you play shouldn't be an embarrassing thing to do. And maybe you do ride the bench most games, but this week has been ass backwards. You and Scott have barely traded glances." He flinched and suddenly looked extremely guilty. "Sheriff is back at the station. Scott and Allison aren't sneaking around together. Jackson has been MIA all week. I think I might have made a new friend at school, _and_ I'm _writing_ my _feelings_ in a _diary,_ … " Stiles snorted and I grinned back at him. "My point is, lately it seems like anything goes. If you want to play in the game, maybe all you have to do is ask the coach."

He nodded and smiled weakly at me. "Yeah," He said, not even pretending to not know what I was talking about. "Thanks."

I nodded at him and finally waved my hands in the air. "Okay, enough mushy shit. I've filled my quota for the year—I'm all out of advice. You want anything more, go talk to Ms. Morrell."

Stiles threw me an dubious sneer as he came to grab a plate from me, and I raised my eyebrows and withheld them from him because of his attitude. He noticed my expression and shrugged. "Look, I'm fine, okay?"

 _Lie_. I narrowed my eyes at him. "No you're not. You're scared."

He scowled and snatched a plate from me, turning away. I sighed and he shook his head apologetically, looking at me with visibly less venom. "I'm not scared."

I finally put my hands up and shook my head. "Whatever, Stiles. I'm just gonna say this last thing, and then I'm going to go in the other room, watch some Family Guy, and turn my brain off."

Stiles didn't comment as he placed his food on the plate. I drew in a breath and bit back my frustration.

"I'm never going to be the girl who forces you to tell me what's bothering you, and clearly there's more to it than you're letting on. If you ever need to talk to someone you can trust, I'm not going anywhere. But I'm no professional, and my advice is probably warped. Ms. Morrell isn't just some guidance counselor. She's good. I mean, she's _good_. Did you miss the part where I'm writing in a freakin' diary?" I snorted and Stiles glanced over at me curiously. "What'd you think? I came up with that myself?" I snickered bitterly and rolled my eyes at him. "Please. No."

And with that, I grabbed my own plate of food and went to watch TV on the couch.


	46. Championship Game, Part 1

**_Hi guys! Before we get started, I've had this one question asked quite a few times, and I wanted to take a moment to address it._**

 ** _Is Savannah ever going to see Rex again?!_**

 ** _LOL, the answer is YES. I realize it's been a while, but it's important to remember what happened last time she saw him. It might not seem like a good reason, but for someone who's got a lot of guilt weighing her down, she was shaken pretty hard when she... jumped off the deep end, so to speak, and basically kidnapped Rex the last time we saw him. True, she didn't hurt him. True, she did bond with him and he WANTED to go. But honestly, she took a lot of pills and was acting very selfishly, not to mention irresponsibly, when she took Rex from daycare. She even almost revealed the truth about Rex's parents, and that's the WAY wrong move. Rex wouldn't understand. It's not her place to tell him. I mean, she killed his father, so... Awkward. Furthermore, she's got a lot going on right now! She's grappling with transitioning to A) Being sober, B) Being a werewolf, C) Being off the street, D) Being a student again. And truthfully, she's probably scared of Maria finally putting her foot down and cutting her off entirely, which she can very much do. And who could blame her? Savannah doesn't have the most stellar track record. _**

**_Also! She's pretty shaken from that hallucination at Lydia's party!_** ** _It's important to remember that it seemed like every hallucination that the characters experienced were their deepest, most relevant personal fears come to life. For Allison it was the fact that she hadn't fully accepted her role in being a hunter. For Stiles, it was the guilt he carried over his father losing his job (his fault) and also the guilt he (inappropriately) carries concerning his mother's death. For Scott, it was (lol) Allison having an affair with Jackson? *Rolls eyes* Aaaaannnd for Savannah, it's the fear that Rex thinks she abandoned him, just like she felt Jack did to HER all those years ago. And in a sense, he'd be correct._**

 ** _SO. That being said... yes. She will see Rex again. But it's going to take just a little more time. Honestly, it won't happen before the end of season 2. I intend to reintroduce him over the period that happens between seasons 2 & 3, which according to my research, starts four months after the events of season 2. (Did i mention that I'm thinking of just continuing into season 3 instead of splitting off to a sequel?)_**

 ** _So, you know... patience. I haven't forgotten him. Some things still have to happen. Kids are a big deal, especially at that young age. I don't want Savannah rushing into his life without having the full scope of what she's going to carry with her, if that makes sense, because she IS a werewolf, and she IS involved with some very dangerous things following her. (The hunters, the kanima, other werewolves, PETER IS BACK, REMEMBER?, etc.) _**

**_I hope that makes sense to everyone. I'm really sorry for the last two chapters having stupidly long Author Notes! Hopefully there won't be a need for one next time XD If you have any questions, let me know in a review! I'll get back to you on it._**

* * *

Nothing completely remarkable happened at school today. It was almost disappointing… it seemed like there should have been more going on, especially since Gerard is in a seat of power at the school. After the pep rally last night, a lot more people than usual seemed riled up for the lacrosse game. Apparently Greenberg threw up on the floor from all the root beer he chugged, and when he tried to play it off with a loud cheer, he slipped and sprained his neck. It was in the papers this morning. When Brooke was called into the principal's office—being the person who came _up_ with the idea for a root beer drinking contest—she called it free publicity. Gerard called it a lawsuit waiting to happen. He told her she wasn't allowed to do the pep rallies anymore. She told him to stop rubbing her shoulders before she called the police, and then ran to tell me about it. Go figure. I guess that means she isn't mad or afraid of me.

So it was almost seven o'clock, and the sun had already set. The parking lot was full to capacity—people began to park on the grass and in nearby lots. I moved with the masses towards the field and took in the sights all around me. Families were here—proud parents and their children, which made a pang of guilt strike me because it reminded me of Rex—and students of all ages. There seemed to be some sort of hierarchy going on as to who sat where in the student section. Seniors were wearing red, and they filled up the first few rows of bleachers. Then the juniors, who were wearing black, and the sophomores behind them (also primarily wearing black), and at the very top, the pouty freshman (who, you guessed it: were wearing black). It was like I witnessed a whole other social dynamic I did not understand.

Brooke was passing out huge black and white cut-out faces of some of our lacrosse players, pasted on sticks. In the photos, the lacrosse players seemed to be roaring at the camera. They were signs… I think. Signs that, when a student took one, they held in front of their own face and erupted in a boisterous cheer. I watched in bafflement and looked over the overwhelming numbers of Jackson heads being passed around, reaching up to scratch the back of my neck.

Awkwardly, I peeked down at my own posters I'd made in confusion. I pursed my lips into an uneasy frown and subtly hid them behind my legs, turning away to retreat into the locker room.

"Savannah," A familiar voice said behind me. "Wait!"

I blinked at Melissa and watched her cautiously. We'd not spoken since that night at the station; since the night she'd discovered the supernatural. She was looking over me with kind eyes.

"Oh, thank god, I'm glad to see I'm not the only one who didn't get the memo about dressing up." She gestured to her nursing scrubs and I looked down at the clothes I'd worn to school, consisting of a green plaid shirt belonging to Stiles, which was thrown over my own black t-shirt and shorts. My knee was wrapped with white bandages, but it'd been long enough at this point that I could get away with saying I didn't need to use crutches.

I shrugged. "These people use any excuse they can to use dress to a theme."

She laughed and went to stand beside me, her purse clutched in her hands. When she finally stopped there was an awkward beat. I shifted on my boots and she nodded to my legs.

"How's your knee doing? Are you already off crutches?"

"Yeah, well, I heal faster than I used to," I said with a grin. Melissa hit her forehead, her keys still clutched in her hand.

"Oh, yeah, of course. That's right, I forgot."

My eyebrows cinched together and she raised her eyebrows at my reaction.

"Well—I didn't forget—I could ne—it's actually all I can think about—you know what?" She took a deep breath and touched my shoulder. "I'm just glad that you and Scott aren't injured. That's the one good part of this whole thing." She threw her hands up and I was careful to keep my face blank. "Scott is just—I don't know how you kids got wrapped up in all this, I really don't!"

I nodded and looked down, unsure what to say here. Melissa sighed as the ensuing silence stretched between us. It felt wrong to just leave her hanging, though, so I drew in a breath. "He's gonna be fine."

Melissa looked slightly surprised, her face softening at my words. I nodded and puffed my lips out, glancing away.

"Honestly I don't know what to say to make this any easier for you. But Scott is—disgustingly good," Melissa broke out a laugh, "with a strong support system that isn't going anywhere. And he's got something to fight for." My thoughts flashed back to the plan he and Deaton devised. "Scott's gonna be okay."

Melissa sighed almost in relief, her shoulders sagging. "God, you're right. You're absolutely right, I just—this wasn't covered in the handbook, you know?"

A small smile played at my lips and I thumbed the posters in my hands. "There's a handbook?"

She laughed and shook her head. "I was about to go wish Scott and Stiles good luck—"

"Yeah, me too."

We didn't speak again as we moved through the crowd, the smell of popcorn and fried food wafting over the field. The sounds of excited chattering and the crowd warming up their cheers behind us set the mood. The field was practically glowing from all the massive overhead lights projected onto it, and I could hear them hum with power. The grass was fake, I knew, but it practically sparkled, and the paint that stretched across it to form the lines was crisp and starkly white. I couldn't help but admire the nature of the whole thing. Something about it just felt _exciting_ , despite the foreboding of what could happen tonight. Maybe it would be alright.

When Melissa and I reached the locker rooms, I could tell Melissa felt distinctly out of place. She was tense and almost timid as we walked in, and would immediately step to the side if a lacrosse player crossed her path. I gently frowned at her and took her shoulder.

Even when the players gave us confused looks I would just raise my eyebrows at them and they'd move out of the way, no questions asked. Melissa seemed a bit offput by this reaction too, so I reserved myself to the reality that no matter what happens she's going to be uncomfortable.

I sighed and looked around. The only other time I'd been in the locker rooms it had been early morning. The boys had moved a lot slower then, not exactly tired since they were working out, but they definitely hadn't been buzzing with energy like right now. Their excitement was palpable. It sparked through the air and my heart rate spiked, the sensation infectious.

Their jerseys were deep red and white. When a player passed us, his cleats clicked across the floor. I was totally transfixed with the whole thing, watching as some of them laced their lacrosse sticks and patted each other's backs enthusiastically.

The scratchy feedback of a speaker cut over the noise, and the coach's voice rumbled over everyone. The players, on cue, turned to him and abruptly stopped speaking as he addressed them. Melissa and I leaned around them to try and catch a glimpse of him. He stood in the doorway of his office, the portable speaker at his side. "Good morning. In less than an hour, aircrafts from here will be joining others from around the world."

Melissa straightened in surprise and frowned at me. Slowly, a grin pulled at my lips and I glanced around to see the players staring back at Finstock with intense, serious expressions. Some were even nodding their heads. I spotted Stiles and gestured at him to Melissa, and she wordlessly nodded. I quietly approached him from behind and touched his shoulder.

He turned around and whispered a greeting as the coach continued. "You will be launching the largest aerial battle in the _history_ of mankind."

"What?" Melissa frowned, and I bit my smile back as I nodded at her.

"This is awesome," I murmured, barely withholding a laugh, and Stiles raised his eyebrow at me.

"Mankind..." The coach somberly repeated. "That word should have a new meaning for all of us today."

Melissa tapped Stiles' shoulder and shrugged at him. "What the hell is he talking about?"

"He does this every year; it's the only speech he knows."

I looked around the locker room as Stiles and Melissa whispered over the fact that it was a speech from _Independence Day,_ taking in how completely seriously the team was listening to coach's speech. He delivered it so dramatically—it made me... unexpectedly, it made me want to be part of this. I frowned, a smile on my face as I suddenly wished that I could be on the field with Scott. Strangely enough, this speech and the ambiance of the crowd outside… it really made me wish I could do more than just stand on the sidelines. It's not like I'm buying into what the content of the speech held—it's more that it suddenly occurred to me what I've been missing every time I sneered at a sports team.

With my new reflexes and speed, I realized how freeing it is to be able to run uninhibited. How _amazing_ it is to be able to carry out actions that are even remotely athletic, after having long ago accepted the handicap that I was imprisoned to. And suddenly, standing around all these teammates, watching how seriously the coach took it and feeling their excitement and nerves cackling through the air—a deep, unexpected longing built in my stomach. I really want to join the team. Just because I _can_. I actually _can_. That means a lot more to me than I ever expected it to.

"Were fighting for our right to _live_ ," The coach's scratchy voice boomed, as if echoing my thoughts. I shook my head and breathed out a laugh as the players erupted with cheers and marveled at how easily excited they were. Scott sat on a bench nearby, shaking his head at the whole thing with a huge grin on his face.

I barely withheld my laughter, covering my mouth to stifle it as he went on. "And should we win the day… the fourth of July will no longer be known as an American holiday, but as the day when the world declared in one voice: _We will not go quietly into the night!"_

That's it. I couldn't take it anymore. I burst out laughing and elbowed Stiles' side. He looked at me in mild shock and I pointed at the coach. "Dude, he's wearing the president's seal on his jacket!"

Stiles breathed out a chuckle and nodded. "Yeah, it's his lucky jacket; he wears it to all the championship games. You're really loving this, aren't you?"

I nodded enthusiastically, patting his shoulder. "So, so much."

"Well spoken, coach," An elderly, unmistakable voice interrupted. Suddenly, all of the enthusiasm and infectious excitement was sucked out of me and the smile dropped from my face. Beside us, Melissa took a slight step back and her heart rate spiked as Gerard pushed his way into the coach's spot to address the team. My eyes slid back to his smug face and I tightly clutched the posters in my hands. "I would have chosen something slightly more historical, but there's no denying your passion. And while I haven't been here long, there's no denying my pride in having a winning team for this school. I know you'll all be brilliant tonight—even with only one co-captain leading you…" His beady little eyes slid over to Scott who sat up in shock.

I grabbed Stiles' hand and he looked over at me with a sober gaze. "He means Jackson, right?"

"Didn't you hear?" Stiles frowned, his usually golden brown eyes hardened into a cold, dark brown. "Jackson is playing tonight."

"What?" I looked back at where Gerard was still speaking. Gerard looked over the crowd with a cold, menacing mask. But his tone was so light that it disguised the threat lacing his words, and the team misread it as good-natured tough love from an authority figure.

"—but I am also a fan, so don't think I'll be content to watch you merely beat this team. Get out there and _murder_ them."

The coach obliviously laughed and patted Gerard's shoulder as the team cheered loudly around us, and I could find no joy in listening to it as I watched Gerard fix his eyes on Scott and smoothly slide back out of the spotlight.

"You heard the man! Asses on the field!"

Melissa touched my shoulder and jerked her chin towards the door as the team bounced around us and rushed to the exit. "We should get a seat before they're all gone," She said over everyone, and I waved her off.

"Go ahead, I'll be out there soon."

"You sure?"

I held my posters up. "I have to give these to someone first."

She nodded in understanding and told me she'd save me a seat as she left the locker room, and I turned my attention onto Scott. He was talking lowly with the coach, but I still overheard him telling Scott his couldn't play until his grades were up, and to that end, he couldn't put him on the field tonight.

The coach walked past me and gave me a strange look. "Carmichael, what are you doing in here? Get out on the bleachers where you belong!"

I narrowed my eyes as Scott told him it was okay. Coach looked back at Scott with his eyebrows raised.

"Actually," He said. "It's not, and we don't have time for this! Now, I'm sorry about the bench, really, I am. Sometimes being a leader means making sacrifices! Get out there and lead your team!" He windmilled his arms, his jacket flapping. "Morale, McCall! Morale!"

Scott walked next to me and shot me an apologetic look as we were herded out by the coach. "What are we going to do?" I lowly hissed, and Scott shook his head.

"The plan is still the same," He looked back self-consciously at the coach, who was still bringing up the rear. "For now, all we can do is…" He shrugged, miming something that I didn't understand with his hands.

I was about to ask him what the hell that meant when Coach took us both by the shoulders. "All you can do is go _wave_ those posters like your life depends on it!" Coach lightly said, shaking my shoulder enthusiastically. "Morale!"

I sighed and rolled my eyes at him.

When we stepped outside, Scott and I scanned the crowds. Truthfully, I don't know what I was looking for. Everything was the same as before—the bleachers were still filled with people, the air still smelled like popcorn. The team was gathered on the field and warming up. Stiles had found his way to the bench and was hunched over with his head ducked down.

Scott noticed it at the same time, and we stepped towards the field in tandem. Coach grabbed my shoulder and hauled me back, and I let him push me towards the bleachers. He tilted his head at me in exasperation. "Carmichael," He grunted. "Get out of here!"

I clenched my jaw and my fists on the posters, but before I could say anything, someone popped beside me. "There you are!" Brooke chirped.

Coach took that as his cue, going to yell at someone else as I sighed heavily and looked back at Stiles, who sat up and greeted Scott.

"What are these?" Brooke grabbed my posters from my hands without asking and I opened my mouth as she flipped them over. She gasped and bounced excitedly. "Are these for me?"

"Uh," I scratched at my neck awkwardly, looking over the bench and catching Stiles' eye. He looked like he was overthinking things, I just knew it. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were still darker than usual, his hands picking at his gloves and knee anxiously bouncing. I glanced back at Brooke who was chattering about the posters. She was holding up the wrong side of the O, which had the skinny tail sprouting from it from when Stiles' accidentally drew out of the line.

"—from a distance I bet you can't even tell—"

I reached out and turned the poster over to the neater, tail-free O. Brooke sighed in relief and let out an appreciative cheer. "These are great!"

"Yeah, but you have those—" I frowned and pointed at the black-and-white cut out faces. "Uh, whatever those are."

"Oh, those?" She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. "Since the posters I originally made weren't going to work, I looked around on Pinterest for other ideas and those seemed like they would be fun. Do you like them?"

I squinted an eye at a bobbing black and white Danny face, tilting my head. "They're… kind of funny."

She grinned widely and nodded. "I know." Taking a deep breath, she raised the posters and smiled widely. "So you wanna help me pass these out?"

"Oh, you should probably do that," I dismissed, and she easily nodded and skipped away. "Wait!"

She turned on her heels without missing a beat, tilting her head at me. "Yeees?"

I frowned slightly at her weirdness. "One of those posters is actually for you."

"Oh," She flipped through them until she hit the _Fuck Maggie Melwood!_ , a loud laugh of surprise bubbling from her. "Oh my gosh! I can't believe you made this! Did you make this?"

I raised an eyebrow. "No, believe it or not, they sell them online," I said dryly, and she nodded knowingly.

"Alright, point taken. Well, here you go," She held the poster out to me and I crossed the distance between us to grab it. "I'll be back!" And with that, she jogged over to the bleachers and called up at the student section.

I turned away as she began to pass them up to the seniors, looking back to Stiles and Scott. "It's gonna be bad, isn't it?" Stiles asked as I made my way over to them and tried to duck behind passing fans to dodge the coach's gaze. "I mean like, people screaming and running for their lives, blood, killing, _maiming_ … kind of bad?"

Scott paused to look at Stiles before he dejectedly said, "Looks like it."

Stiles looked back at the field and sighed, his knees bouncing. "Scott—" He started, his voice tight with tension and emotion. I came up short and puttered to a stop, my heart tugging unexpectedly at how miserable he sounded. I frowned in concern and held off from joining them to listen. "The other night, seeing my dad get hit over the head by Matt—you know, while I'm just _lying_ there and can't even move… It just… I wa—I wanna help, you know? But I can't do the things that you can do… I _can't_."

Scott looked at Stiles in concern and I clenched my jaw, my heart tugging at his tone. I mean… I knew Stiles was struggling, but this? I had no idea he was feeling _guilty_. I just thought he was tense about what may or may not be coming. I thought he was scared. Not frustrated with _himself_.

"It's okay," Scott frowned.

Stiles looked at him doubtfully, miserably.

Scott just nodded at him reassuringly, and Stiles shook his head.

I wanted to go to him and comfort him. But this isn't the time, or the place for that. So I just hurried forward and crouched behind them. Scott looked down at me in surprise but I ignored him as I touched Stiles' back.

"Hey guys, look at Greenberg," I said, nodding over to where coach was scolding him for something or other. I set the poster down on the field and watched with them. Teammates around Greenberg laughed and he tried to shake his head, wincing loudly and grabbing his neck brace. Coach started to smack the back of his head but stopped himself at the last second, switching to throwing a frustrated finger in his face. "Now's your chance, Stiles! You should ask the coach to play."

Scott sat up and nodded enthusiastically as Stiles shook his head uncomfortably. "There's no way he's gonna let me on the field—"

"Why not?" Scott asked, giving Stiles an encouraging shove. "Greenberg is down, I'm on the bench—there are two spots open! You definitely have a shot!"

Stiles looked between us, small, unconfident hope in his eyes. "Seriously?"

I laughed and poked at his side, making his flinch away and almost fall off the bench, but ultimately stand as I wanted him to. "Go!" I flapped my hand at him and cursed under my breath when the coach suddenly turned towards us and spotted me. "Wait, Scott—"

I ducked behind Scott and watched as Stiles approached the coach, stretching my hearing.

"Stilinski!" Coach bellowed, and Stiles hesitated. "If I have to tell your girlfriend to get off the field one more time, I'm gonna lose it!"

"I wanted to ask you—wait. What?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah," Finstock waved his hand towards the field and gave Stiles a light shove in that direction. "What are you doing standing here? Get out there!"

Stiles' shock was tangible as he started to look between the field and the coach, almost falling over himself. "Really?"

"Are you _deaf?_ Put your helmet on and _get on the field!_ Go!"

Stiles gasped and threw his hands into the air, hopping onto the field with a loud whoop. Coach pointed at me, "Don't make me tell you again, Carmichael!"

I stood up and threw my hands out. "Morale!" I gestured wildly between me and Scott. "Morale!"

Coach waved his hands violently. "Morale _off_ the field! _Off_ the _field!"_

I stared to protest that that didn't even make sense, but Scott grabbed my arm and smiled at me in amusement. "It's okay," He grinned. "You're gonna make his head explode. Go."

Growling, I threw Finstock a venomous glare which he returned tenfold as he started towards us.

Brooke was waiting for me at the edge of the field, practically vibrating with excitement. "You know Scott McCall?" She gushed, and I frowned at her enthusiasm.

"Yes," I slowly said, passing her the poster, and she gasped and grabbed the poster with a death grip.

"Does he have a girlfriend? Is Allison still dating him? I know they were sneaking around for a bit, but that seemed very much over this week—I can't believe you're _friends_ with him—"

"How did you know about him and Allison?" I asked, disturbed, and she waved me off.

"I _know_ things. Remember?"

My eyes narrowed but she didn't even notice as she bounced and looked over Scott's form on the bench with what could only be described as hungry eyes. I snarled my nose in disgust and shook my head. "Not tonight," I said, grabbing her by the shoulder to guide her to the bleachers. "Not ever."

"You're right," She nodded. "This very moment is poor timing, but after the game…" She laughed excitedly and seemed to forget she was speaking out loud—or just didn't care, as she said, "I can't wait to congratulate him when they win. But if they lose… I can't wait to _console_ him."

I drew away from her and wiped my hand on my shirt in disturbance, telling her firmly to stop.

She gasped and grabbed my wrist. "You'll introduce us, right? Oh my god—why did I wear this?"

As she began to fret over her clothes, I turned away as Sheriff stood out of his seat and threw a triumphant fist in the air. "My son is on the field!" He cheered, and the crowd looked up at him strangely.

I threw my hands in the air and whooped loudly. "Yeahh!" I chorused, and Brooke threw her immediately threw her sign in the air to join our cheers.

"Woooooo!" She shouted, jumping up and down, and gaining the attention of the student section.

Grinning widely, I pumped my fists at the Sheriff and paused when he squinted down at the sign and his face shifted into horror. I looked over and choked when I realized it was the _Fuck Maggie Melwood_ sign, quickly batting at Brooke's hand.

Brooke turned to me questioningly; the sign still in the air as I cleared my throat and shook my head at the sheriff. Someone from the student section slowly started to chant, "Fuck-Maggie-Mel-Wood! Fuck-Maggie-Mel-Wood!"

Slowly, the entire section joined, and I turned to grimace awkwardly at Brooke. She dropped the sign like it was diseased as the cheer block chanted, and I muttered, "Oh, dear God."

Brooke, nose in the air as she pretended to hold her composure, grabbed my wrist and led me away from the sign.

We made our way over to the bleachers and I told her that I had a seat saved with the sheriff. As she responded, in teh distance I heard, _"Scott."_ I turned around and spotted Scott on the bench. _"Can you hear me?... Good. Listen up, because the game is about to get a lot more interesting."_

I froze and Brooke looked at me questioningly. Smiling fakely, I said, "Are you thirsty?"

"Why? Do you want to go to the concession stands?" She started to come back down the stairs and I put my hand up to stop her.

"That's okay, I can go, you should grab our seats. What do you like? Tea?"

"With lemon if they have it," She smiled, and threw her thumb over her shoulder. "What about the sheriff? Are you getting him something too?"

"Yeah, sure," I waved, and turned back to face Scott. The coach was watching me from the field with his arms crossed, and I ducked my head to walk slowly towards the concession stands.

The scoreboard's numbers flashed a bright red, even twelve minutes. The players took their spots on the field and I put my hands in my pockets and dodged people as I walked to the concessions.

" _Let's put a real clock on this game, Scott…"_ Pretending to scratch my cheek, I glanced over my shoulder and looked at Gerard, who stood near the bench with his metal pill dispenser between his fingers. I looked back down at my boots as I walked. " _I'll give you until the last thirty seconds. When that scoreboard clock begins counting down from thirty, if you haven't given me Derek, then Jackson is gonna kill someone."_

I clenched my jaw and looked up from the concession stand line, pretending to watch the players set up on the field as I combed the faces for Jackson. He was in the middle, hunched over in front of a player of the opposite team, and he slowly raised his head. From my vantage point, with my eyesight I was able to see him swallow roughly.

Someone passed in front of me and I looked back at Gerard. _"So tell me, Scott, who's gonna die tonight?"_

The line moved forward and I was forced to turn around as I moved to two people away from the front.

 _"Should it be your mother, who so bravely came out to support you?"_

Melissa's nervous form lingering in the door of the locker room flashed through my mind, her worried face when she spoke to me at the beginning of the game. I grit my teeth.

 _"Or the Sheriff?"_

My head whipped up and my eyes flashed at the back of the head of the person in front of me. One person away.

 _"Your best friend's father. Or how about the pretty little redhead who managed to survive the bite of an alpha?"_

I frowned, confused, and then realized he was talking about Lydia. Wait—Lydia's here? My heart dropped inexplicably as I was finally moved to the front of the line, the concession worker smiling politely at me. Mechanically, I asked for something without thinking and shoved a five-dollar bill at him.

 _"Or perhaps… the troublesome beta who somehow forced her way into your lives?"_

I stepped away from the concessions stands, looking straight at Gerard with a daring, humorless smile on my face. His lips twitched into a nasty smile and he casually turned to the field. _"Or maybe one of these innocent teenagers with their whole life ahead of them."_

I followed the direction of his gaze to see Stiles, smacking his glove into the net of his stick, his heart racing as he shifted anxiously on his cleats. My fists clenched and I barely stifled a low growl, the desire to just go put an end to his life altogether surprisingly strong. I moved quickly, barely even looking around as I fumed. _I've_ got a suggestion for a candidate…

 _"Or should I do everyone a favor and kill that ridiculous coach?… It's up to you, Scott. But you are going to help me take. Derek. Down."_

The whistle blew while I made my way up the bleachers. The crowd was buzzing with excitement, and the game was underway. Brooke sat beside Sheriff and Lydia, her purse lying in the space between her and Sheriff. When she noticed me she drew in an excited breath and held her hand out to me. "Did they have lemon?"

I passed the tea to her and stepped over Lydia without so much as looking at her, quickly passing Sheriff his coffee. Brooke grabbed her bag and patted the bleacher. I settled down, stiffly.

"Hey, there she is!" Sheriff said, and looked down at my leg. "Thank you," He took the coffee from me and suddenly fixed me with a sober stare. "But don't think this lets you off the hook." I frowned at him in confusion. "Melissa told me everything. You are _so_ busted."

My heart stopped, and for a moment I wondered just what exactly _everything_ meant. I leaned around the sheriff to look at Melissa, who smiled meaningfully at me and nodded. "I was just telling him that you won't need your crutches anymore."

" _Oh_ ," I blinked, looking up at the sheriff.

He raised his eyebrows at me and lifted his cup. "That's great news, kiddo!"

"Yeah, yeah," I sighed, distracted as I looked back at the field. "God, you scared me…"

Sheriff took a drink of his coffee and raised an eyebrow at me. "Got a guilty conscious or what?"

I snorted and shook my head. "You have no idea," I muttered under my breath.

"What happened to your knee?" Brooke frowned beside me, and Lydia peered at us curiously. I blinked at Brooke and Gerard's threat flitted through my mind.

"Brooke." I grabbed her arm. "I need your help."

She immediately nodded and Lydia pretended not to watch and listen behind her.

"Come with me," I said.

* * *

 ** _OH MY GOSH! An actual cliff hanger! What!? Where have those been for the past ten... or twenty chapters. Lol. So it looks like my long author note wasn't quite finished, because I wanted to say that I'm leaving for vacation soon. I'll be out of town all next week... And I haven't decided if I'll take my laptop with me. I'll probably squeeze out another couple chapters before I leave, but just... heads up!_**

 ** _Review, please! :)_**


	47. Championship Game, Part 2

I want to stand up, I want to let go  
You know, you know, no you don't, you don't  
I want to shine on in the hearts of men  
I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand

Another head aches, another heart breaks  
I am so much older than I can take  
And my affection, well it comes and goes  
I need direction to perfection, no no no no

Help me out  
Yeah, you know you got to help me out  
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the backburner  
You know you got to help me out

\- _All These Things That I've Done, by The Killers_

* * *

I am a huge fan of the whole, "morals are relative" opinion. I've heard plenty of people say even though circumstances might change, morals and ethics are constant and will never change. To me, this is completely ridiculous. Different cultures adhere to different standards of right and wrong, and these standards evolve from generation to generation. History itself is proof of this.

So before you judge me too harshly, remember that our morals are likely wildly different. To me, Brooke is innocent in this whole thing. To me, she is trying to force herself into my life—a life that's dangerously unstable and littered with supernatural threats. One of those threats is Gerard, and he's made it clear what he intends to do if we don't hand over Derek.

I can't tell Brooke the truth, because I can't tell her about the supernatural. That would be wrong. But allowing her to stick around with Gerard's threat looming overhead is also wrong. So I'm going to lie. In order to clear her of harm, I'm going to tell her a boldfaced lie.

"This is very important, do you understand me?" I stood near the exit of the lacrosse field.

Brooke nodded gravely, her face a complete and total mask of solemnity.

"You might have noticed that Scott isn't playing tonight—"

"I _did_ notice that," Brooke gasped. "Do you know why? Are you about to tell me?"

I pressed my lips together and stared at her until she drew her face into a serious expression again. "Yes," I said, and she gasped and I pressed my lips together again, and she apologized. "He has severe asthma."

Brooke frowned curiously and shook her head at me. "No he doesn't? That's not possible. He's the co-captain of the lacrosse team."

"I know." I widened my eyes briefly and took her by the arm to guide her to the parking lot. "It's amazing, he shouldn't be able to even play; he's overcome so much. The thing is—" I scratched my nose and looked over the parking lot, which was empty as I'd hoped. "He doesn't have his medicine. That's why he can't play tonight, and right now we're losing."

"We are?!" Brooke exclaimed, trying to lean around me to catch a glimpse of the scoreboard.

"Yes!" I took her by the arms to turn her to the parking lot. "You have to go! Get his medicine, hurry!"

"What?" She exclaimed as I shoved her, running to the parking lot without knowing why. "What's happening?"

"You have to go! Right now!" I gestured wildly to the parking lot. "Run! Hurry before he has an attack and dies, this is so important, please!"

She started to run toward a row of cars and then abruptly stopped, turning around. "Wait! Why aren't you coming?"

I waved at her and started to turn back to the game. "Huh? I have to go but Scott is going to love you for this!"

She hollered after me but I quickly jogged back to the game and grimaced to myself without turning around, listening to see if she followed me.

She didn't. She muttered under breath and took off running, and I sighed laboredly and slowed to a walk, my boots smacking the pavement heavily. Part one of my plan is done. I looked over to the bench where Scott was and noticed that another player was sat beside him.

 _Isaac_. Not part of my plan. He and Scott were leaned together and speaking lowly, but I strained my ears to listen as I slowly meandered back to the bleachers.

 _"No right now its… pretty much just keep Jackson from killing anyone."_ Scott sighed and shook his head.

 _"Well that might be easier if you're actually in the game,"_ Isaac helpfully pointed out.

I scowled slightly. "No shit," I muttered, drawing a strange look from a passing fan.

 _"We have to make it so coach has no choice but to play you."_

Frustrated, Scott said, _"How do we do that? He has a bench full of guys he could play before he ever even puts me on the field!"_

Collectively, we all turned to look at the bench where Coach sat beside all three of his back up players. And they developed a plan for Isaac to go out on the field to injure all the extra, nonessential players without—and this is very important— _without_ hospitalizing them.

So as I walked, I turned away from the bleachers. As if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Scott turned on his bench to look at me. I looked at him without changing my face at all and Scott's eyebrows twitched down curiously. Time for part two.

Gerard stood to the side of the field. I walked toward him, hands in my pockets, and Scott shook his head wildly. It was important for me not to acknowledge him, not to even look his way. Gerard looked at me when I was about six feet away from him, but I'm pretty sure he noticed me coming a long time ago.

His muscles in his jaw jumped and he tilted his head up to look at me from down his nose. I stopped when I was directly beside him, facing the field, hands in my pockets.

"You want Derek?" I said, and Gerard copied my stance and faced the field without replying. One of the players that coach had sent out went down with a loud crash, and the crowd winced in sympathy. Stiles had also paused in his actions to try and figure out why Isaac just took down one of their own, and as he looked back to the bench he spotted me. His lacrosse stick dropped to his side and he straightened in surprise. I shifted on my feet and took a step away. "You've been asking the wrong person this whole time."

Gerard turned to watch me with his brown intelligent gaze as I made my way down the grass and towards the locker rooms.

" _Savannah, don't,"_ Scott warned from the bench. I turned around and looked at him, seeing him half-standing, half-sitting and obviously wanting nothing more than to chase me down and drag me back.

Gerard had turned back to the field, and for a split second I wondered if he'd follow me.

But then I realized he couldn't follow me while we were still in sight of the whole freaking town. But there's no way he's going to pass up the chance to get me alone. Especially if I'm offering him Derek, and I'm not stupid—putting myself alone with him would mean offering myself up, too.

I pretended to be headed towards the restrooms, pointing up at Sheriff and Melissa and then pointing in that direction. They nodded at me and Melissa threw me a thumbs up, and Lydia looked at my strangely. I turned to continue, the crowd loudly wincing behind me as another player was taken down.

Out of the spotlights on the field, the night was much cooler and empty. The bathrooms were surprisingly barren, but then, I suppose it's to be expected since such an intense part of the game was happening. People love to bear witness to violence, and it seems the public won't pass a chance up to be rude with near impunity, which is what appears to happen every time a player goes down by the hands of one of our own. _What are you doing, you idiot?_ They screamed, at Isaac, at the referee, at anyone who listened as another player was taken out. _Do something! You can't just ignore it!_ Screamed the soccer moms, the families gathered, the president of our class from the student section. As I said: morals are relative. When the championship is stake, I guess composure and politeness is unnecessary.

I took one last look around to make sure no one was nearby to pay attention as I turned my feet away from the restrooms and quickly ducked into the locker rooms. Part three.

My heart was beating faster, my frustration at the whole situation growing by the minute. Stupid hunters. As far as morals go, theirs are just as skewed as mine. Their noble purpose has taken them to the farthest edge of vigilantism, toeing the line of villainous.

When the door opened to the locker room, I was already pacing in agitation. I turned around and started to snap at Gerard, but came up short when some unfamiliar man pushed through the door. He was tall—taller than me by about a foot, with vampiric pale skin and a skinny, bony nose. I snarled my lip at him and he smirked tauntingly.

"This is the locker room. Restrooms are _that_ way." I pointed at the door and he reached inside his jacket, the metal of a throwing dagger glinting in what little light illuminated the locker rooms. "Oh," I realized, standing up straight. "Now I get it. You're a hunter, right?"

He twirled it in his hand and snarled a lip. "Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent."

One of my eyes narrowed in confusion. Before I could even form a witty retort, he flung the knife with a flick of his wrist. It flipped through the air and I stepped to the side, watching it ricochet off a locker with a metallic screech and clatter to the ground. I snarled in triumph at how easy it was to dodge.

He took advantage of my distraction, a mistake that Derek would undoubtedly have berated me for, were he here to witness it. But he's not. I'm on my own, and I didn't have time to think about the mistake as he rushed forward, head down, and rammed his shoulder sharply into my solar plexus.

It stole my breath and my vision blackened. A loud, wheezing gasp came from my lips as I shoved against him with all my might and he staggered backwards, lost his balance, and flipped over the bench.

I barely had time to stumble away from the wall before he had rolled back into a crouch and threw another knife at me. The tip whizzed straight for my face and I dropped back without thinking, finally letting my instincts take control.

I let the rest of my body follow into some sort of backwards somersault, and I bore my teeth at him in rage. But I quickly had to duck out of the range of another knife as it flew past my head and wedged itself into the wall with a thud.

And so it went. I would narrowly dodge his knives, and he just danced around the room and tossed them at me like they were newspapers. He barely broke a sweat until I managed to breathlessly roll behind a thick set of lockers.

I reached up and quickly pulled myself on top of them, my feet disappearing over the edge just as he rounded the corner. Even though I sorely wanted to growl at him and taunt him, I clenched my teeth and bit my cheeks to keep silent, huddling over top as he slowly crept along and his eyes scanned the benches.

When he didn't spot my black head of hair or ankle peeking out from behind them, he realized his mistake. But by then it was too late.

I flew at him like a spider monkey, not even giving him the chance to turn around as I loudly roared and tackled him to the ground. His forehead cracked directly against the edge of a bench and I took no small measure of pleasure in the sound of his grunt and the feeling of his limp limbs sprawled beneath me.

I waited for him to thrash or even curse at me, but he just lay lifelessly under me. For a split second my heart seized in my chest until I grabbed him by the back of his hair and lifted his head to feel for a pulse. As soon as I found it, it thundered in my ears, and I shoved him back into the floor and pushed off him in disgust. Partially for panicking over whether I'd killed him, partially over how sloppily I'd preformed just then. It occurred to me that the thundering heart was not _his_ , but mine.

The door opened and I swiftly stepped behind the lockers to peer from cover. I froze when I saw Isaac being held with his arm twisted behind his back by Gerard.

Isaac was sweating and his muscles were tensed. Gerard cast a look around the locker room with an indistinguishable expression on his face, his jaw locked and movements strong and sure as he shoved Isaac into the floor.

It wasn't until Isaac grunted breathlessly and began to drag himself forward that I finally realized what was going on. Jackson had gotten to him on the field—he was paralyzed. Or, getting there, at least.

Another hunter brought up the rear, his eyes on me as he kicked the door shut. In his hands rested a hefty looking skinny object. It was dark and difficult to make out between Gerard's shifting limbs, and I remained silent as Gerard's gaze swept back and forth through the darkened room—scanning, searching for me.

"It would seem that Kenneth has failed the single task I gave him."

The hunter behind him stepped out curiously and froze upon seeing his unconscious comrade, _Kenneth_ , lying merely feet away from the door. I held my breath as he surged forward with an outraged sneer to curse loudly. Gerard put his hand up in front of the hunter and wordlessly drew him to a stop, his face having settled in my direction. He almost smirked as the muscle in his jaw danced, and his voice was low and purposeful as he spoke.

"No, Darren, that's alright. I never expected it to work anyway. Kenneth didn't take the time to consider his opponent's actions. He didn't strategize, he just attacked."

My shoulders and back stiffened when it seemed that he focused directly on me as he spoke. The hunter beside him reluctantly lowered his stance, a wordless gesture of submission, though he stared down at his unconscious comrade unhappily.

I turned away and crept along the opposite direction, taking heed to muffle my steps as I inched my way to the far end of the lockers. Gerard continued to babble about the importance strategy and tactical prowess as I curled around the back of the lockers and paused just at the edge, my back pressed against the metal as I strained my ears to listen.

"Savannah, you must know by now that I'm working with Scott." Gerard's direct use of my name must have been meant to unsettle me. I frowned and tried to read his strategy to this game he was playing; tried to find the motive behind his actions. "But I never wanted to threaten innocent lives," He continued, drawing something metal that sounded suspiciously like a sword. I wanted so badly to peek around the corner.

Isaac had immediately stopped upon hearing my name, and I realized that Gerard wasn't trying to unsettle _me_. Isaac pushed himself up with newfound strength and turned directly towards me, instantly spotting me now that he knew to look for me.

I risked a glance back to see if what I dreadfully suspected was true, and sure enough, Gerard and the hunter beside him had followed Isaac's gaze to my hiding place. As quickly as I could, I gasped and ducked back behind the lockers—but not before the chilling realization that it _was_ a sword that Gerard had drawn. He had been gripping it in his hands when I turned around.

I listened as the second hunter strode forward, making a beeline across the locker room to me. He didn't even look down as he grabbed me by the arm, and something inside me urged not to resist.

Isaac watched with a guarded and extremely confused face as the hunter dragged me out from behind the lockers like a petulant child, but I did not put up a fight.

"You can recognize that it was a necessary step I had to take, can't you?" Gerard tightened his grip on the sword's hilt but didn't otherwise budge as I was presented to him, my arm twisted behind my back exactly like Isaac's had been, so that my stomach was poking out and readily exposed to the blade, should he choose to use it. He looked over my face and the position I was in with a calculating gaze. "Yes." He lowly decided. "I think you can recognize my reasoning. In fact, I think you know it well. It's why you're here now, isn't it? You think differently than the others. You think… like _me_."

I scowled at him and he lifted his upper lip as he looked at me from down his nose.

"You can tell yourself that you're here to save the others. You can try to tell me that you're here because you're willing to do what the others won't in sacrificing Derek… but I know that's a lie. I know it better than you know it yourself. Because if I were to follow through with my threat and kill someone Scott loves, your newfound life would crumble. Like a house of cards, the stability you've found will fall from beneath you, and you'll crash right back to where you were. Only you'll still be a monster. And I'll still be a hunter. And I will not allow you to prey on the innocent anymore—"

He dragged the sword along the ground as he started forward, the metal screeching against the textured cement of the locker room. A million emotions raced through me—anger, desperation, adrenaline, panic—but most notably, a small sprinkle of doubt. Could he be right? The thought hadn't even breached my mind, but could he be right? Is that why I'm doing this? I've been selfish for so long—I thought I was finally doing something for someone else now. I thought I was doing the _right_ thing for once. Am I wrong? Am I simply lashing out again? I've done it before. When I get backed into a corner, my fight or flight kicks in. And every time, without fail, I choose to fight. Is it happening again? Would I really have sacrificed Derek? I couldn't be sure, as Gerard brought the sword between his hands. I swallowed roughly and my heart thudded loudly in my chest, and the doubt seeped through my mind, and my resolve cracked.

Gerard's eyes twinkled with triumph. He seemed to grow in size with the finish line in his sights. He caught his second wind as he tightened his grip on the hilt and a sinister smile crossed his face, his true form baring itself for me to see. He was positively chilling. I was actually scared when the muscles in his arms tightened, and that fight or flight sensation kicked in.

I was about to thrash out of the hunter's viselike grasp when Gerard paused and said, "Wait."

I held my breath. The hunter behind froze. Isaac was stock-still.

"Did you know?" He asked, and I couldn't even form a response. Gerard's eyes searched my face, and his lips tugged at the corners into some semblance of a—what? A frown? A smile? I couldn't quite tell, as he realized, "You didn't." He chuckled darkly and the hunter shifted behind me in confusion, and his malicious laughter broke off with a sputtering hack. He drew in a wet breath and rattled out another cough, his grip on his sword lessening to wipe at his mouth. "How—disappointing," He wheezed. "You're not quite as clever as I gave you credit for. Alright then, I'll tell you. Let her go."

The hunter thrust me forward and I teetered forward on my knees dangerously, rolling my shoulder to get the blood flowing back into my arm. I watched with troubled eyes as he turned back to me and wiped his hand down his pants.

"Scott never wanted you in his pack. _I_ told him that he needed you."

I blinked and straightened in surprise. An incredulous laugh bubbled from my lips, and just like that, the doubt drained from me and the bitter taste vanished from my mouth in a loud laugh.

Gerard's face screwed up in anger at my mocking laughter, and he gripped the sword with renewed vigor.

"Laugh all you want… You _know_ it's true." He said quietly, knowingly. Like he knew all my secrets and he was just trying to help me see.

"Yeah," I patronizingly nodded. "Sure."

"Scott came to me and asked to join forces to defeat the kanima. He told me that Derek was going to use his pack to kill Jackson, and that he knew I wanted Derek. He said if I helped him capture the kanima and find a cure for it, he would help me get Derek.

"And I've had my eye on you since that day in the hallway, when you sacrificed yourself to go to prison with Isaac." He flicked his gaze purposefully back to the beta behind me, who was leaning against the sink. "I knew you were a weak link in Derek's pack, because to do such a thing—to purposefully get arrested by the police—had to be a direct defiance to your alpha. And I knew you were sniffing around Scott's pack because I noticed it while I was keeping such a close eye on my granddaughter. I must admit—the trust and affection that the sheriff has given you was definitely unexpected on my part. But it did _wonders_ to fool you, didn't it? Be honest with yourself… you _must_ have known it was too good to be true."

The amusement died on my lips. I was looking at up at him with a cold, blank mask. Once again—his words bred doubt. Doubt that now spread through me tenfold. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was screaming that it didn't make sense. Scott has been asking me to join his pack for _weeks_ before I finally did. Is Gerard suggesting that Scott has been working with him since the pool? Or since even before that?

I couldn't believe it. I _wouldn't_ believe it. But it was too late—my hesitation was more than enough for him. He drew his chin up and somehow his lack of mocking laughter made it worse. "It is essential to seek out enemy agents who have come to conduct espionage against you and to bribe them to serve you. Give them instructions and care for them. Thus, double agents are recruited and used."

I frowned and my mind raced a million miles an hour.

"But I _volunteered_ to be a double agent for Scott."

Gerard smiled quietly. "Or so you thought."

I looked down, speechless for the first time in a long time. My stomach was dangerously nauseated, and I felt something crawling up my throat. I felt dirty. I felt used. But I wanted so desperately for it not to be true. I wanted so desperately for Gerard to be lying to me—because if he's telling the truth… That would have made my own choices no more than an illusion, and everything else, a _lie_.

"You've been _used_ , Savannah." Gerard thumbed the sword and the sounds of the game outside grew loud, distracting me momentarily. Oblivious, Gerard pressed on. "You've been deceived and used. And all the while, your little nephew has been left behind—asking about his aunt."

Immediately, I stiffened and my eyes snapped back to him. My heart grew cold and any traces of doubt or persuasion vanished as I immediately zeroed in on this new tactic of his.

How _dare_ he use Rex? How dare he bring my nephew into this?

"How did you know about him?" I lowly asked, my voice barely audible. I could feel Isaac's imploring gaze on the back of my neck as I clutched my claws tightly into a fist and Gerard leered knowingly down at me, his face the mask of triumph that only a villain who thinks he's won could wear.

"Even now, you continue to underestimate me," He grinned. "It wasn't hard to find out about your past. You think that if you pretend the skeletons in your closet don't exist then it means they're not there. But they're there. They've always been there. All it takes is someone who's willing to do what's necessary to look behind the door…"

My head hung and I drew in slow, deliberate breaths. If he thinks that using my nephew to threaten me is going to get him anywhere… A cold, quiet hatred spread through my veins as I realized that Gerard had essentially shown me his entire hand. What else could he possibly have against me? How could he be so willing to sacrifice all of his control over the situation? It seemed so out of character. We haven't even reached the end of his master plan yet. Why would he reveal all this effort he's put in? And to me and Isaac, no less?

"You're going to have to kill me," I huffily ground out, finally lifting my head to fix him with the most intense glare I could muster without lunging for him. Gerard straightened in surprise and looked at me down his nose, clearly unhappy with this turn of events. "You might as well forget whatever plans you've made for me, because I won't let anyone who threatens my nephew live. If you want to stop me, you're going to have to kill me."

Gerard looked down at the sword. I never looked away from his face, and the hunter let his hands hover over my shoulders, ready to restrain me at a moment's notice. Gerard lifted the sword up from the floor and looked back up at me, and our eyes met.

I searched his gaze—his dark eyes that were still clouded and unreadable. As much as he had just revealed to me (whether it was true or just another clever lie he spun right here on the spot to throw me off) his eyes were still unreadable, cloaked with sinister walls that were just too high to see behind. With as much as he just said, it should be clear to me now. But it's not. I still couldn't predict his moves as he predicted mine. For as well as he claimed to know me, I had no idea who this man was. All this just to cure himself? And for what? At what cost?

Perhaps he will start where it began. Perhaps that was the first part of his plan all along—to kill me, the first beta that Derek created. Perhaps I had played directly into Gerard's hands. It seemed poetic enough to be Gerard's type of move.

Something warm brushed my fingers. I looked down in surprise to see the hilt of the sword that Gerard had been clutching through this whole thing, now being pushed into my grasp.

Confused, I gripped the hilt and looked up at Gerard, whose muscle jumped in his jaw. "Thus, double agents are created and used." He lowered his chin at me meaningfully, and his dark gaze flitted over my shoulder. Without turning around I knew he was looking at Isaac.

And a cold, sickening realization weighed my stomach down like a cinderblock. Gerard is now trying to recruit me. To use me, and as a show of allegiance, he wants me to kill Isaac. I gripped the hilt tightly and stared down at it as the ominous silence stretched between us.

He knows that I have a nephew. What else could he know? Could he know where Rex is? Could he help me reunite with him, or would he use him as a bargaining chip? Or perhaps it's both.

I looked up at him, but just over his shoulder, I saw a dark silhouette looming just behind him, a pair of glowing yellow eyes staring at me.

It was Scott. He stood in his burgundy uniform and the white number contrasted so brightly, it seemed to glow. It was a miracle that the hunter behind me hadn't noticed him yet. Scott's head was ducked slightly and he panted as he stared at me, fully shifted, waiting for my move. I suddenly wondered how long he'd been there. Does he know? Does he know what Gerard told me? Surely he heard.

And still, his eyes were open and kind and waiting for my decision, like he knew I would do the right thing. As if he already knew it, even before I knew it myself. And I wanted so badly to be that person.

The sword weighed heavily in my hands as I looked down and raised it slightly to peer directly at the reflective metal. My eyes were brown, and human, and set with determination. I didn't need to shift to make this decision.

As fast as I could manage, I raised the sword over my shoulder and jabbed it backwards until I hit flesh. The hunter let out a loud cry and must have stumbled over my feet because he collapsed to my left as Gerard whirled around in surprise and narrowly countered Scott's attack.

Outside, the crowd screamed a deafening roar—and for a split second my heart froze because I assumed the worst. But then I heard, " _I SCORED A GOAL!"_ And the sound of Stiles' voice steeled my resolve. With renewed vigor, I turned around and grabbed the hunter by the leg. He tried to swing his fist out and box my ear but I grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head into the ground.

He still managed to land a swift punch, clipping me painfully on the ribs. Scott had rushed around us to grab the other hunter—who'd apparently gained consciousness—and threw him into a wall. As I pushed myself up on shaking legs in the shadows of the locker room, the sword clattered to the ground and Scott suddenly asked in a demanding voice—"Where is he?!"

I looked up at Isaac, who looked back at me with a quiet, knowing expression. And then I turned to see the hunters unconscious on the ground, and turned all around, waiting for Gerard to spring out of the shadows and scream something like _here's Jonny!_ —but the cry never came. In fact, his signature scent of expensive aftershave and underlying pungent stench of death was trace. He'd escaped in the commotion. Somehow, the hunters distracted us, and he'd gotten away.

I looked back at Scott as the crowd continued to cheer outside. There was no time to reflect on what happened as we both dashed for the exit. The ground blurred under my feet as I ran, desperate, icy panic lacing through my veins. Gerard's gone. _Gerard_ —the man who threatened to kill someone if he didn't find out where Derek was before the end of the game. The man I just scorned. The loud cheering only grew in volume as Scott and I raced up the hill, the cool night air practically buzzing with the tremors of their voices. It felt like static electricity humming through the air and almost made me want to bend over and cover my ears, but I ignored it as I followed behind Scott and pushed through the masses until we burst onto the field.

Fans were hopping up and down beside me, their hands up in the air as they screamed at the top of their lungs. Their screams blended into one high-pitched ring that seemed to pierce my brain. Gathered near the end of the field—at the opponent's goal—the lacrosse team. My heart jumped in my chest for the thousandth time that night as the image of the dead body of some poor lacrosse player flashed through my mind, a rushed explanation for why they were gathered so tightly on the field. But then I spotted Stiles' dopey grin and I realized he'd been scoring goal after goal—and I looked up at the scoreboard to see that we were _winning_ , and it all made sense. My spirits lifted and I grinned widely and tried to wave my arms to catch his attention.

He seemed positively entranced at something. "Stiles!" I hollered beside Scott, who followed my gaze and relaxed when he found his best friend was unharmed. "Stiles!"

Stiles' head was turned to the crowd, a completely smitten smile devouring his whole face and his cheeks heated to a bright red—whether from adrenaline or elation, I couldn't tell—until I followed his gaze and saw Lydia. She stood, as still as I stood in the massive crowd that was leaping around her, her hands clutched at her chest and a massively proud, endeared smile warming her usually cold face. And her eyes were focused directly on Stiles.

My arms fell dejectedly to my sides and the warm pride that had swelled in me was quickly replaced with the cool, biting chill of rejection. I drew in a quick breath when Scott grabbed my shoulder meaningfully. I shook my head from the emotional whiplash I sustained. Scott wasn't looking at me as he gripped my shoulder. He was looking at the scoreboard with his jaw dropped and eyes bugging out of his head, and when I looked up the bright red numbers were quickly dwindling from 15 seconds to 10 seconds. I looked back at Scott and then followed his gaze again, spotting Jackson as he moved purposefully through the players on the field.

Jackson's arms swung lowly, his head slightly ducked and eyes fixed solely on Scott as he walked. I looked back at the scoreboard as Gerard's words flitted through my mind. 8 seconds. I looked back at Stiles, who had lifted his hand to Lydia with a huge face splitting smile, and once again the cool sting of rejection pricked my chest. It was followed by a fiery, poisonous emotion that took me a moment to identify.

 _Jealousy_ , I realized. 4 seconds.

Jackson's gloves hit the field. His eyes had shifted to a new color—gone was the orange and yellow shade, replaced with a purely green and white reptilian outline that was cut down the middle with that same black slit.

2 seconds. The claws at the end of his splayed fingers glowed in the harsh spotlights looming over the field. He turned his attention to the players on the field.

The scoreboard buzzed loudly, four illuminated red zeroes glowing in the night as the crowd sent out another round of loud raucous cheering. I looked up at the bleachers and watched the student section stomp out a rhythm, and a new chant of victory started to pour over the field. Black and white faces were thrown and waved through the stands. Party horns were blown and little plastic hands were clapped.

The parents were jumping up and down with their children. The sheriff and Melissa were pointing down at Stiles and loudly screaming in victory, and Lydia had started hopping around in glee again.

"We did it!" The couch yelled in disbelief. He laughed incredulously and yelled it again.

I looked at Scott in confusion. "Wait, what?" I said, my voice inaudible to most people under all the commotion.

Scott shook his head at me. "Nothing happened?"

We looked around the field again, but everyone was just cheering.

"Nothing happened!" Scott said again. The scoreboard still displayed a bright red zero.

I opened my mouth to speak, when the spotlights suddenly cut out and whatever I was about to say flew out of my mind. The change in lighting was so intense that it blinded even me, despite my supernatural sight. The sudden blindness was a sensation I hadn't experienced in months and the urgency that Gerard's threat gave only panicked me more—and my hand flew out to grip Scott's wrist in alarm as a woman screamed in horror.

As quickly as the darkness came, it faded. I recovered from my sudden nyctalopia and watched as people either fell, jumped, or pushed their way down from the stands. Everyone was screaming—hearts were racing wildly around me and I strained to see anyone standing still besides me and Scott, or listen for any other steady heartbeats that might indicate Jackson's location—but there was nothing. It was too much. Too overwhelming.

"Scott!" Melissa cried from somewhere nearby. He turned and slipped from my grip as he moved instinctively to his mother's voice. Apparently he'd regained some of his sight too, as he directly moved around the crowd until he'd found her. "Scott!" She cried in relief, patting him down and looking him over. "Are you okay?"

The lights slowly came back on, one by one, and I looked all around the crowd to try and see if I could find anyone injured or down in the stands.

There was nothing. No one.

"I'm fine, are you okay?" Scott asked, and I turned back as his mom exclaimed that someone was down on the field.

I looked back and froze momentarily at the mass of players once again congregated at one end of the field. Numbly, I broke into a sprint and didn't even bother to dodge around people as I flew across the grass and suspected the worst.

 _Stiles_.

But when I got there, it wasn't Stiles lying on the grass—it was Jackson. Relief flooded me and I sighed heavily and covered my racing heart. Confusion quickly replaced my relief as Scott stumbled up beside me and Isaac quickly joined his side.

"Wait—Jackson?"

"He's not moving!" Someone cried.

"Jackson!" Lydia screamed, and my heart tugged at the shattered desperation in her voice. I knew that scream. It's the scream of someone who already knows the truth—but desperately wants someone to sit up and tell them it's all a just cruel joke, or a dream. I've screamed that same scream—and very nearly that same _name_.

Déjà vu coursed through me and nearly knocked me backwards as I saw Lydia stumble through the crowd and stop, almost as if she didn't want to continue—couldn't bear to actually see what she was seeing. Jackson—lying lifelessly on the grass.

"Look," Scott muttered, grabbing someone's wrist beside him. I looked over to catch Isaac's gaze before we both turned to see what Scott was nodding at. Jackson's claws were covered in blood. "He did it to himself?"

I frowned and looked up as the coach yelled for everyone to get back, and Melissa began chest compressions even though I'd hardly noticed her falling to the ground in front of Jackson, and she yelled at Lydia to hold his head up.

It all happened so fast, I almost forgot. But when I saw the sheriff come bursting into the crowd I remembered with a jolt of panic, more potent and breathtaking than before as I made eye contact briefly with the sheriff.

He looked away from me quickly, spotting Scott. Then Isaac. Lydia. Melissa. Jackson, on the ground. He flitted his gaze over every lacrosse player.

And then he confirmed the same thing I already knew.

"Stiles?" He called, looking at me in what was close to panic. "Stiles?"

I shook my head, my mouth parted as my mind seemed to detach itself from my body.

"Stiles!" Sheriff screamed. "Where's my son!?"

* * *

 _ **I'M BACK! Vacation was lovely, but I'm back and ready to write. Stupid Gerard! Manipulating poor Savannah's mind! Making her second-guess everything and tricking her all the dang time... Let me know what you thought in a review! Also, a TON of people were happy to have that last author note concerning Rex, which makes me glad that I wrote it. If you ever have questions like that, ask me to cover the question in another A/N. I'll definitely do that again if you guys want.**_

 _ **And I wanted to thank you guys so much for your steadfast support :) We're almost to 300 reviews, just a few more! We can do it!**_


	48. The House of Usher

Feel it as the wind strokes my skin  
I am moved by the chill

 _\- Winter Bird, by AURORA_

* * *

I'm doing a million different things at once. In my mind, I'm flitting through all the possible scenarios that would explain what happened to Stiles. Did Gerard take him? He had to have taken him. But where? Why? Jackson already killed himself. Gerard made good on his threat. But why would Jackson kill himself? Why would Gerard _tell_ Jackson to kill himself? Did Jackson rebel? Could he have somehow overcome the bond between he and Gerard and killed himself? Or was it exactly what Gerard wanted to happen? It doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense.

I just barely restrained myself from tearing out of the locker room to go on a mad, frenzied hunt for Stiles. I would get worked up about Stiles being missing, being in danger, then I would get confused about Jackson, then Gerard's huge curveball that he threw me almost an hour ago would flash across my mind—how long has Scott been working with him? Why did Gerard want me on his side? Would I really have done it if Scott hadn't shown up? No, no way. But what about Rex? What about Isaac?

Every time Isaac looked at me, awkward tension forced our gazes apart like the opposing ends of a magnet.

And that was just inwardly. Outwardly, I had to keep the illusion of worry for Sheriff. I could let my restlessness and anger shine through, since the sheriff would expect nothing less, but I couldn't let _too_ much of my anger shine through in case I shifted or I slipped and said something offhand about hunters or Derek, and I couldn't _really_ discuss what to do with Scott and Isaac because Sheriff can't know about _any_ of this. I'm playing the situation way down for Sheriff's sake, but in reality, I'm on the precipice of snapping.

That doesn't even delve into the mood of the locker room. It had dramatically changed from the pre-game jitters. Every player was somber, their movements slow and their faces shocked. They had their heads ducked, their voices low. What happened?! Why did the lights go out? How did Stiles score all those goals? Why where all those players taken down? Why did Scott disappear from the field there at the end? Wasn't he supposed to sub for the others? Where is Stiles? How did Jackson die? Did anyone see anything? Hear anything?

Of course a few players had their own crazy theories that were so juvenile and insane I won't even go into it, but a rather popular one involved a deadly cocktail of drugs and steroids. No one could seem to agree on a theory about the cause of death—but one thing was for sure. Jackson had definitely been acting strangely for the last week or so. Danny, I'm sure, was a wreck. In fact, I hadn't seen much of Danny at all.

Isaac, Scott, Sheriff and I stood around a bench in a more private part of the locker room. No one seemed to want to stand too close to the sheriff in a time like this—in a time when a teenager had just turned up dead on the field, and his son was missing. If nothing else, it leant us some privacy.

"I gotta meet with the medical examiner and try to figure out what happened to Jackson," The sheriff listed, reading from a small notebook that he kept in his pocket. His hands miraculously weren't shaking, but his face was white as a sheet and he could hardly form the words even as he spoke them. Every breath seemed to use all the energy in his body. He seemed sick with worry and on the verge of passing out. "I've got an APB out on Stiles—" A trembling breath briefly escaped his lips as he struggled not to break what little composure he had with the thought of needing an APB for his son.

I brought my thumb to my lips and shifted restlessly on my feet, peeking at him from the corner of my eye.

"H-His jeep is still in the parking lot, so that means—" Sheriff broke off and his confidence visibly dwindled. "That means… Oh, hell, I don't what that means, um," He looked over his notebook and shook his head.

I grabbed his arm for support and he expelled a breath as soon as I touched him, looking at me in a rare moment of undisguised misery. My heart broke when his normally sharp blue eyes searched my face, looking for something—what? Looking for what? I pressed my lips into a thin line and nodded at him, firmly grasping his arm as he shook his head and looked away. Maybe he didn't know what he was looking for, either.

Sheriff lifted his arm from my grasp so he could close the notebook, but I think he was trying to feign strength and pretend that he could stand on his own. That he had everything under control for our sake. He clicked his pen and continued. "Look, if he answers his phone or if he answers his e-mails, if any one of you _see_ him—"

"Then we'll call you." Isaac gently nodded at the sheriff and I shifted on my feet and rubbed my nose, looking at Scott.

"Hey, he's probably just freaked out from all the attention or something," Scott offered, way better at this whole _pretend-everything-is-normal-and-not-completely-fucked-sideways_ bit than I am. "We'll find him."

Sheriff took a deep breath and nodded at Scott like he knew exactly what Scott was doing and muttered a quick goodbye. I stood there, unsure of what to do as he touched my shoulder briefly before striding through the locker room.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't let him go like that. So I chased after him and grabbed his elbow, pulling him to a stop. He frowned down at me. "What is it, did you think of something? Did you remember something?"

"Yeah, I remembered to tell you that—" I clenched my jaw and shifted uncomfortably. "That I'm…" And nothing came to mind. Nothing seemed good enough to say in this situation, and suddenly I was just opening and closing my mouth and shifting awkwardly in my boots. What can I say? I won't let him just disappear? I'm won't let him become another missing person in my life? My heart ached so strongly, it was almost more than I could stand. Because how could I let this happen? How could I have let someone I care about just—it's like I can't stop repeating my mistakes. In some sick, twisted way, this was my fault. I provoked Gerard. I got myself distracted, and now Stiles is missing, and Jackson is dead, which doesn't bode well for Stiles. And if I had just stayed on the field, maybe I would have saw it coming sooner. I could have done more. I _should_ have done more, and I was stupid. And reckless, like always. I try to do the right thing, but maybe it's time to learn the hard lesson in my life. Sacrificing myself isn't the answer. I should have learned that a long time ago on the cliff with Jack—but clearly, I didn't. Sacrificing myself only makes things worse.

Suddenly, Sheriff was hugging me. I felt my eyes burning as I stood, unmoving, stiff as a board, while Sheriff hugged me to him and told me it was okay. It would be okay. Everything would be okay. He knows. Without me saying a word, he knows.

"I'm sorry," I managed, face pressed firmly against and his chest, and his arms briefly tightened on me.

"So am I," He said, equally as miserably. He stepped away and I kept my gaze on the floor as he took my shoulder in his hand. "Everything is going to be okay, Savannah. We'll figure this out."

I nodded, unable to look at him as he finally turned to leave.

I took a breath to compose myself and turned around to trudge back to Scott and Isaac. As I walked, I passed Finstock and braced myself for his usual routine. I tried to rack my brain for an excuse to be in here—Stiles is missing. Jackson is dead. I need my friends. We'll be leaving soon anyway. But he just glanced over at me and his mouth twisted into some sort of sad—nod—acknowledgment—thing. And then he patted my shoulder and continued by.

I raised an eyebrow and watched him despondently wander to the exit of the locker room. Turning back to Scott, I put my hands up and pursed my lips in encouragement.

He shrugged and sighed heavily. "Is that everyone?"

Isaac and I looked around and noticed that the locker room was finally empty. "Yeah, I think so," Isaac nodded.

Scott grabbed the door of Stiles' locker and pried it off like it was nothing, and I scratched my nose. "He's gonna _love_ that," I muttered, and Isaac seemed surprised. "For the record, I didn't do that."

Scott and Isaac looked at me strangely and I pointed a knowing finger at them. "Trust me, he'll blame me."

"It's the end of the season anyway," Scott shrugged as he reached down to grab two random objects from his locker. "They'll have it replaced by the time we get back."

My mind flashed to Brooke's comments about her mother footing the bill for damaged and new lacrosse property, and then I wondered absently if she ever turned back up to the game. I hoped not, as Scott handed me Stiles' jeans. He reached back in to grab something for Isaac, and I lifted the leg of the jeans to my nose to take a sniff—even though I knew already how it should smell.

Burnt wood and smoke. I frowned and jerked my head back in surprise. _That's_ not right— _oh_ —

I whirled on my heels just in time to see Derek strolling in. But his scent must have changed slightly, because it used to smell of cedar wood. There were still faint traces of it, but the more overpowering scent seemed to dominate the room as he walked in, and I frowned and dropped Stiles' jeans to approach Derek.

"Hey, how come you get his shirt and I get his shoe?" Isaac smartly asked behind me, but I ignored him as I stepped forward.

"Derek." That single word must have drawn Scott and Isaac's attention because Derek's eyes flickered over my shoulder.

"We need to talk," Derek calmly said, glancing from me to Scott.

"All of us." A stranger stepped out from behind a locker and casually joined Derek's side, his brown hair combed cleanly back and his facial hair kept short and neat. His clothes were all black and he stood exactly like Derek with his hands clasped behind his back and his feet shoulder-width apart. He was an adult, maybe in his late-thirties or older. Either way, I immediately didn't like him. I didn't like his scent—I didn't like the way he just barged in here at a critical time like this and demanded to speak with us—and I _definitely_ didn't like the fact that he was hanging around Derek. Up to now, I'd only seen Derek around younger people who were close to my age. Now there's _him?_

Scott quickly joined my side. "Holy _shit_ —"

"Who the fuck is that?" I suspiciously sneered, looking him over distrustfully.

He looked at me with his eyebrows raised and somehow managed to pull off looking both concerned and amused as he drank my appearance in. It made me want to snap my fingers in his face and tell him _eyes up front_ , but he barely seemed fazed as he smirked at me. "My, you're even more delightful than Derek described. How nice it is to finally put a face to the name."

Derek rolled his eyes and scowled, gearing up to say something, but Scott interrupted. "What the hell is this?"

"You know, I thought the same thing when I saw you talking to _Gerard_ at the police station." Derek fixed Scott with a knowing glare, the unspoken _the-jig-is-up_ resonating loudly over us.

"Okay, hold on! He threatened to kill my _mom_. And I had to get close to him, what was I supposed to do?"

I looked at Scott's incredulous, if a little aggravated, facial expression as he looked at Derek and it was clear that he believed every word he was saying. I wanted to believe that what he said completely disproved Gerard's wild accusation that Scott had been working with him for longer than any of us knew, but the fact of the matter is, it simply doesn't. Gerard could have threatened Scott's family at any point. In fact, Scott himself told me that the first moment he knew Gerard was sick happened when Gerard showed up at the hospital and stabbed him just before his mom came outside. That could have been the moment.

But there have been so many similar incidents since then, it's impossible to know without asking him. And now is not the time or the place to have that particular discussion, so I turned my attention back to Derek and the man beside him.

"—have you seen his mom?" The strange man asked, tauntingly tilting his head in appreciation. "She's _gorgeous_."

"Shut up!" Scott, Derek and I automatically chorused.

The man raised his eyebrows and looked away as if we had overreacted, but didn't otherwise comment. As he turned, he fully faced the doorway and I was about to ask who he was again when a spastic form popped through the doorway.

"Oh!" Brooke gasped, tripping over herself to dodge Derek and the stranger. "Geez Louise, my bad! I didn't see you guys there—" She turned to glance around the room and hopped forward a step when she found Scott. Derek and the strange man exchanged a bewildered glance as she waved a white bag in the air. "Scott! Oh, god, you look so pale—I'm sorry, I went as fast as I could, but the _traffic_ was _insane_ on the way back— _you_ ," She rigidly screeched to a halt and threw an accusatory finger at me, the white bag flapping as she did so. "Where have you been?"

I stood with my mouth agape and looked back at Derek and the man, who had turned their confused and distinctly _unhappy_ gazes onto me when Brooke specifically called me out. Scott looked at me in stunned befuddlement.

"Uh—" I stammered, struggling to keep some semblance of control over the situation. I reached out for the bag and raised my eyebrows at Brooke, not quite able to conjure a smile. "Thank you, I—" _forgot_ "—Assumed you had gone home after what happened."

"Home?" Brooke laughed after I had taken the bag. She joined my side and shook her head. "No way! I heard about Stiles." She turned a kind smile back to Scott and Isaac. "Don't worry you guys, we'll find him."

I blinked and fumbled with the white bag, turning it around. Stapled to the front was a receipt from a pharmacy. As Scott and Isaac filled Brooke in on the final score of the game, I squinted at the black print and sat up in surprise. "What—Brooke!"

"What? Is it the wrong kind? Oh, crap! I knew it was gonna be the wrong kind, but the pharmacist told me this was the most common one that people use, I'm sorry—"

"Brooke, why would you spend this much money on it?" I frowned, shaking the bag at her face.

She scoffed once she understood that I was freaking out over the price and snatched it out of my hand. "Well you didn't exactly give me any instruction, Savannah. I did what I could with the information I had. It was nearly impossible to even find a pharmacy that was _open!"_

"Wait—" Scott waved his hand to catch our attention as I smirked in amusement when I realized the lengths Brooke went to just to help me—or I suppose, just to help _Scott_. As soon as Brooke looked back to Scott, she shut up and a huge, stupid grin crossed her face. She withdrew in herself slightly and clasped her hands nervously behind her back, bouncing on her heels. "That's for me?"

She giggled, the term _star struck_ comes to mind, and presented the bag to him. "Uh—yeah, Savannah told me you had asthma. I can't believe you're able to play."

"Asthma?" Derek said behind us, dryly raising an eyebrow. I scowled at him and he did that thing where he stared right back, unimpressed.

"It turns out that Scott was only on the field for—" I looked back at him because I realized I didn't actually know how long he'd been on the field.

"Half a minute, really," Scott waved us off and took the bag. "But—um—thank you…" He surreptitiously gave me a confused and mildly disapproving glance as he read over the prescription. "You didn't have to do this."

"Sure I did, cutie," Brooke said with a sugary smile, and Scott's eyes widened and everyone in the room froze for a moment at her term of endearment.

I coughed to cover my laugh and clasped Brooke on the shoulder, dragging her a step away from Scott. " _Anyways_ ," I said, turning my attention back to Derek. Before I could say a word Brooke jutted her hand out to him.

"Brooklyn St. James," She said with a proud smile, her eyes flitting over him. "Are you Scott's long lost brother or something?"

"No," Scott and Derek chorused, though Scott's was more forceful. Brooke blinked in surprise and started to drop her hand, but Derek threw me a quick loaded glare that he hid from her well as he shook her hand.

"I'm—"

"Stiles' cousin." Scott piped up from behind us.

Derek's grip tightened on her hand and his jaw clenched, and Brooke's face seemed caught between surprise and discomfort as she sorely retracted, massaging her hand tentatively. "—Oh… I didn't realize he had a cousin."

"Yes." Derek said through his teeth. "I don't visit very often."

"Miguel lives in the boonies," I said with a tilt of the head, and Isaac snorted behind me. Stiles told me all about that little nick name he gave Derek, and I knew he'd be proud I used it. My heart squeezed with worry and Brooke took it all in with a surprisingly blank expression, her eyes flitting over everyone. Her gaze focused on the stranger behind Derek.

"And you are?"

"Peter." He nodded, and I struggled not to react as my mind quickly flipped through the in-depth history lesson that Stiles gave me back at the Preserve a few weeks ago. Peter Hale, the alpha who started it all. He stepped forward and grabbed Brooke's hand, making a show of leaning over to place a chaste kiss to her knuckles like some sort of gentleman out of a Jane Eyre novel. "Pleasure to meet you. Your skin is beautiful."

"Oh," Brooke uncomfortably smiled, drawing her hand back and secretly wiping it down the back of her shirt so he couldn't see. "That's—how old are you?"

"Okay," I impatiently waved my hand as Peter looked almost offended when he drew back to his full height and stepped away. "We're all acquainted now, can we get on with it?"

"Yes." Peter stiffly said. "We were here to congratulate the two co-captains on a game well played." The double-entendre resonated with my pack, and Brooke obliviously tilted her head. "Have any of you seen Jackson?"

Isaac, Scott and I exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

"Oh, you haven't heard?" Brooke gently asked, a sad expression on her face.

"Heard what?" Derek prompted, perhaps a bit forcefully. Peter listened closely as Brooke shook her head.

"Jackson was found on the field with multiple injuries. He was—" She looked down. "He didn't make it."

"What _sort_ of injuries?" Peter asked, at the same time Derek asked what she meant by _didn't make it._

"I don't know for sure." Brooke turned back to Scott, Isaac and I. "You guy were here. Did you see?"

I nodded and Scott said, "All I can say is he was bleeding." He paused and glanced at Isaac and I. "A lot."

"Apparently it was like something out of a scary movie," Brooke continued, nodding somberly. "The lights in the field went out for some time, and when they came back on, Jackson was down."

"How do you know all this?" I asked with a frown. "You were out—ah, fetching Scott's medicine," I said, for lack of a better phrase.

She raised an eyebrow at me and threw me a strange expression. "Like I've told you before, I know things."

"Things?" Derek asked Brooke, though he was looking directly at me. And he did not look happy. "What _things?"_

"All kinds!" She chirped, and then suddenly gasped. "Oh! I've _got_ it!"

We all looked at her strangely as she practically danced around in happiness. "Is she always like this?" Isaac and Peter asked at the same moment, and before anyone could reply, Brooke grabbed me by the wrists and started hopping up and down.

I tightly gripped her hands and made a point to lock my wrists in place so it was difficult for her to jump, but she barely noticed as she stopped and dramatically took a breath, trying to smooth her slightly frizzed hair. "Okay," She took another breath. "I'll organize a search party."

"Excuse me?" I said, tilting my head even though she barely seemed to hear me.

"Oh, it's gonna be perfect! My church is already gathering for a candle-light vigil for Jackson, so I'll just tell everyone that we need to start a search for Stiles!" She gasped and grabbed my hands again. "Would you come?"

I stared at her wide, pleading eyes and for a second I was speechless. "T-To your church?"

"Yes," She exclaimed in what was almost a hiss. "I know you'll feel better if you pray—"

"I can't," I deadpanned. "I have to help Scott and—Miguel and Peter."

Brooke's face fell momentarily, but just as soon as it started, it was over, and she dropped my hands and started pacing cheerily. "That's okay! I'll just pray twice as much—" And with that, she began reciting some sort of prayer in Latin.

We all stared at her for another few beats until finally, Isaac broke the silence.

"We should go back to Derek's house—"

Brooke abruptly stopped her praying and turned to look at him. "Who's Derek?"

Collectively, we blinked. Isaac's mouth hung open. Peter stepped forward. "Miguel's brother."

"Stiles has two cousins?" She frowned, scrunching her face. "I've never heard of this."

"And an old uncle, if you count me," Peter nodded, seamlessly lying and also managing a subtle dig at what she had said to him earlier. "We should really get back. Derek is waiting for us."

"Are you sure you can't come?" Brooke asked me, and I nodded and tried my best not to look hesitant. She sighed and grabbed my hand to pull me aside, and the others took a moment to figure out that she wanted to speak privately before they closed ranks and started to murmur amongst themselves. "I have something for you," She said, and sifted through her many necklaces that varied in length.

I started to protest, but she cut me off and handed me a long, silver chain. She grabbed my hand and told me to open it. Reluctantly, I did as she asked, throwing a quick glance at the others. I should really be with them. Now is not the time to be focusing on Brooke.

A small medallion that looked suspiciously like pure silver was warm on my palm. It depicted an engraving of a man in robes holding an infant, and around the edge of the medallion, the words _Saint Anthony, Pray For Us_ was inscribed on the border.

"Do you know who Saint Anthony is?" She asked, and I frowned as my throat ached with emotion. I couldn't find my voice so I just nodded my head, and Brooke smiled gently at me. "Well, honestly I didn't expect you to know. I have a speech ready because I thought you wouldn't so I'm just gonna say it anyway, okay?"

I snorted and rolled my eyes and she cleared her throat.

"I planned to wait until next week to give you this, but it seems like you need it more now. St. Anthony is the patron saint of the lost and the poor. I think he could really help you." She fixed me with a sad expression and I stiffened uncomfortably, the metal growing cold in my palm. "I heard about your brother." Before I could react, she quickly pressed on. "I was asking around about you because I was worried and eventually someone mentioned it to me, and I know he's still missing, and I'm really really sorry about that. But I've been praying about it every night since I heard and it would just mean so much if you could keep this because if it helps you at all then I'll sleep so much better." I stood with my mouth agape and she looked at me imploringly. "Okay? Even if you don't believe in it, keep it for your brother, and for Stiles."

I looked down at the necklace and wordlessly looked away, unable to form a coherent sentence. But my emotions were powerful. No one has ever prayed for me before. I didn't know if I believed in that stuff, but I knew how deeply people care about their religions and how seriously they take them. I knew Maria was a pretty big advocate for the catholic church. It seemed like a grand gesture for Brooke to make such a huge fuss over me when it concerns... _praying_ for me. It just seemed so personal, and so selfless, but for all I knew, she prayed for everyone she met in a day, including the bus driver. She took a breath and stepped away.

"Okay. That's all I wanted to say. I'm going to go gather some people at my church." She turned back to the boys and told Derek and Peter that it was nice to meet them.

As soon as she left they all turned to stare directly at me. I looked at Isaac and Scott, putting on the necklace and letting it fall into my black t-shirt as I scowled at Derek and _Peter_. "What?"

"Does she know?" Derek demanded, and I scoffed at him.

"She knows that you guys are suck ass at lying."

"Well I didn't hear you offering any better explanations." Peter crossed his arms challengingly at me and I stiffened.

"Didn't you say something about a closing window?" Scott interrupted, stepping between us.

I frowned in confusion and Peter seemed want to roll his eyes, but settled for clenching his jaw. "It was a metaphor," He said. "For opportunity." When Scott didn't immediately exclaim that he knew, even though I think he did, Peter shook his head impatiently. "Don't they teach you _anything_ in this school?"

"Well maybe if we attended class more," Isaac sarcastically quipped behind us. "But we're a little preoccupied with all the—you know… running for our lives."

"Right," I sniffed, going to stand beside Isaac and Scott. "What'd I miss?"

"Are you okay?" Scott asked me in concern, and Peter groaned.

"He hasn't changed, has he?" He practically whined, and Derek growled at him to focus.

Scott ignored him and raised the white bag of medicine at me. "What's this about?"

"Oh," I cleared my throat and looked down, toeing the ground. "That's nothing, that's just—uh—distraction."

"For what?" Derek asked.

I sighed heavily. "So she wasn't around to be killed when Gerard decided to set Jackson loose on the crowd, okay?"

They all took a moment to absorb this, but Peter seemed slightly less than put off by this revelation. Almost as if he _expected_ this sort of gesture from me. _Clearly_ he doesn't know me.

"How sweet," He dryly commented, sounding eerily like Derek when he was scolding me for doing something dumb, except a lot more sassy. Still, it was just as condescending.

I scowled at him and Scott held the bag out to me. I frowned and he shook it, and I realized he was trying to hand it to me. I shook my head and put my hand up. "What do I need it for? Keep it."

Scott blinked and Derek stopped crossing his arms at us long enough to cut his hand through the air and catch everyone's attention.

"We need to find out what Gerard is planning."

"And how are we going to do that?" Isaac asked.

Peter spoke up. "Actually, I think I might have an idea…"

"Great," Scott said, gesturing to the exit. "Lead the way."

* * *

After we had jogged through the woods for a while—because we could do that, you know. We were all werewolves, a fact which hadn't occurred to me until after we set off and Isaac made the comment of needing transportation, earning a smart quip from Peter about being a newbie—anyways, as we jogged, I had a thought.

"Where have Boyd and Erica been?"

Isaac turned to look at me in surprise. "They didn't tell you?"

"I haven't asked," I dryly commented, and Isaac seemed to take offense. "Have _you_ asked about me?"

His hurt look dropped, replaced with a grudging allowance, and Derek finally decided to chip in. "They left. We're going to my house."

" _Our_ house, thank you very much."

I waited for Peter to snap in a Z formation for added measure, but he just turned on his heel and led the way through the woods with Derek tagging closely behind him. Scott shrugged at us and waved us along.

"They have a house?" I whispered, and Scott tilted his head at me.

"Sort of…"

"I thought it burned."

"It did." Isaac gave me a look that said _everything you're imagining is true_ , and I sighed heavily before finally hurrying to follow the rest of them.

When we got there, it loomed on a hill like the House of Usher. As Edgar Allen Poe said, 'With the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit.' I grabbed the medallion hanging from my neck with a hesitant sigh.

It was ashen and grey, smudged with smoke and crumbling into the ground. The bones stood strong, especially in the front. Peter and Derek led the way up the porch. They hardly even glanced twice at the damage, as if the house was normal and still fully intact, and when their feet pounded the steps, they barely let out a creak.

I realized when I took a tentative step that, interestingly enough, the more careful your steps were, the more creaky and fragile the wood was. If you moved across it with sure, strong steps as the Hales did, then it seemed like the house accepted you. If you tiptoed and quibbled around, it threatened to snap and swallow you whole.

Or maybe that was my own anxiety talking. Speaking of anxiety, the longer we took to piddle around and let _Peter Hale_ lead us around by our nose, the longer Stiles went missing. At first, Sheriff served as a mild distraction. Then he left, and I was able to focus on the issue a little more until Derek and Peter barged in, and then _Brooke_ came—and there was no time to stop and think. But on the jog over, it seemed impossible to think of anything else. And the longer I thought about it, the more I decided that Gerard would want Stiles close by. He's trying to provoke us, to draw us out so he can get Derek where he wants him. So he took Stiles. He knows that Scott and I will stop at nothing to get Stiles back.

So he took him.

And that's all well and good, and it makes sense—but then I remember that Jackson killed himself, and I'm confused all over again. It's that single piece of information that restrains me from throwing caution to the wind and charging over to the Argents' house. Why would Jackson kill himself? Why would Gerard want that? Whatever he's planning, it can't be good.

The dread settled in my stomach with the weight of expired milk. It bubbled and my mind was just as restless as my stomach. I could hardly stand still, constantly shifting on my feet and tugging at the medallion on my chest, unused to its weight.

I wondered if Brooke was praying for me as Derek and Peter bickered over finding some family heirloom or something—I couldn't be bothered to listen. Honestly, at this point, I could care less about Jackson's well being. I just want to find Stiles. But I can't do anything until we know what we're dealing with—not if I want Stiles to survive. As much as I hate to admit it, and as wrong as it might feel to resist, charging in blindly would be a mistake.

"I'm telling you, I looked _everywhere_ ," Derek said as we passed through the scorched house and completely bypassed the stacks of boxes behind us. "There's nothing here."

If I weren't so sick with worry, I might take a moment to throw in a sarcastic comment.

"You didn't look here," Peter smoothly said as he leaned over the stairs that led to the second story. As he gripped one of the wooden steps and lifted it, revealing the perfect hiding place, Scott gasped.

He held his cellphone in his hand, the light illuminating his relieved face as he sighed. "Oh, thank god. They found Stiles."

My heart finally dropped out of my throat, my sweaty palms tingling with adrenaline. My body was confused. In my mind, I knew that I could finally calm down. But my body was still ready for anything; my heart still raced, I still felt cold and I still sweat in spite of the chill, and I still fought to catch my breath even as I sighed in relief.

"He's okay?" I asked, my voice surprisingly tense.

Derek turned to look at me as Scott nodded and breathed out a calmed laugh. "He's fine."

I looked down as my heart beat even faster in anticipation. If anything, I was more anxious, and I couldn't think of why. He's fine. He's fine? He's _fine?_

 _So why are you still panicking?_

I grunted in agitation as Peter pulled out a box and asked Derek what century he lived in, and it occurred to me that this should be a joke, but apparently I missed the punch line. Or was it the punch line that he just said? I don't know, I don't know.

Peter took his laptop, which turned out to be what he had hidden in the stairwell, and went to set it up at a table in another room. Scott's phone rang and I practically jumped on him.

"Who is it?" I demanded, itching to snatch it out of his hands. "Is it Stiles?"

"No, Savannah—" He pushed me back and brought his phone to his ear. "Hey, mom, I can't talk right now."

I groaned in exasperation and pushed away from him, pacing the floor. The texture of the medallion did little to distract me as I nervously thumbed it, running a hand down my hair.

"Maybe you should go," Isaac said from the shadows.

I didn't respond at first and he stepped out to look at me, but he seemed more guarded than ever before. I sighed and shook my head as I paced past him, much as I have done to him many times before. "What?"

"You're practically crawling up the walls," He frowned, crossing his arms at me. "You're making _me_ anxious."

I sighed heavily and pushed my hands in my hair. "Scott said he's okay, though. There's no reason to worry."

"Okay," Isaac shrugged. "So go see him."

"What?" I scoffed, and he fixed me with a knowing glare. "Just _leave?_ " I looked at him, his blue eyes and pursed lips, the way he just seemed to _know_ what I was thinking and he not only saw it, but also enabled it. Vulnerably, I shifted on my feet. "Do you think?"

"I think if you don't you'll explode. I've never seen you _twitch_ before."

I sighed and shook my hands out, hesitating for another beat. Seeing him _does_ sound good. I can't believe he's okay—the need to see him for myself was impossible to ignore. I couldn't if I tried.

"I'll be back," I finally said, turning to dash out the front door. Isaac said something behind me but I didn't stick around to hear what it was as I bounded down the front steps and down the hill, back into the woods.

The night air cooled my sweaty forehead, and I moved so fast the trees blurred past me.

He's okay.

Gerard let him go? Or did he escape? If so, how? If he let him go, why?

Why did he take him at all?

The faster I pushed myself, the more my emotions changed. Slowly, the panic wore off. My heart still beat fast, but the chilling dread thawed with a fire that spread through me _fast_.

My heart beat so frantically that I couldn't breathe. I pushed harder.

 _Calm down! He's fine. He's_ _fine_ _. Why are you panicking? Why are you overreacting? You're pathetic! Get a grip! He didn't die, okay?_

The fire erupted in pain and I missed a step, tripping over my own feet and crashing into the ground. I pushed myself up and tried to stand, but I couldn't focus past my racing heart.

 _Breathe._

I gasped, and gasped again and again.

 _Slower._

My heart wrenched and I think it might have skipped a beat or three.

 _Why?_

I knew that I couldn't suppress it anymore. If I wanted to make it home to him in one piece, I needed to confront it, right here. Right now.

Jackson is dead. _Dead_.

Stiles was taken. Stiles. My Stiles. _Alive_.

Memories of him passed through my mind and my breaths came easier. Dancing, laughing. _Alive._

"What's the _matter_ with you?" I growled, scrubbing at my cheeks furiously.

A voice whispered in the back of my mind and I angrily slammed a lid on it. I clenched my teeth and covered my face with my hands, bending down to press my face against the ground.

" _Stop_ it."

With a trembling breath, I touched the ground and kept my eyes closed. I buried my emotions deep, deep into my heart and slammed the door shut. My eyes opened and I slowly raised my head, my throat aching and eyes burning. Something on the ground glinted in the moon light.

I frowned and froze. It was skinny, and black. Mostly buried in the dead leaves on the ground, coated partially with dirt and reeking of blood. But it shined in the light.

I crawled forward until I could see it properly. A jagged, broken arrow. Or, one end of it. Coated with blood. As if it had been snapped off, while the tip was still lodged in someone's body. And farther along—just ahead—there was a jagged trail of blood. In fact, all around me, the leaves and dirt were disturbed. Like someone had recently been here. Like they'd lain on the ground, rolled on it, even. Collapsed against the dirt, perhaps.

Hesitantly, I reached for the arrow. I let my fingers hover over it because I was afraid to find what I already knew.

But my fingers closed around it, and the blood wasn't slick as I'd anticipated, but thick and partially dried. I paused for one more second before taking the plunge and lifting it to my nose, and I took a deep sniff.

 _Boyd._

* * *

 ** _Yeah, so, I thought this would be going a lot faster than it is. XD But then I finished at that stopping point (it seemed pretty good) and I already had, like, almost 7,000 words. So, time to stop. Oh well! ;D More for us to enjoy, right?_**

 ** _My favorite part about rewatching these early episodes? Reveling in Peter's master of sass. He is the sass king._**

 ** _How about a few more reviews? Only a couple more until we hit that 300 mark! COME ON PEOPLE, WE CAN DO IT :D ... For me? Please?... No? How about... for Savannah!_**


	49. The One with the All The Fight Scenes

_**If you're new to the story, WELCOME! :D If you're returning, then WELCOME BACK. Either way, we're finally about to wrap up season 2. And it only took us fifty ... four... chapters. *Sigh.* We're not done, you guys. Not even close.**_

 _ **ANYWHO, ENJOY!**_

* * *

Muscle to muscle and toe to toe  
The fear has gripped me, but here I go  
My heart sinks as I jump up  
Your hand grips hand as my eyes shut

 _\- Breezeblocks, by alt-J_

* * *

I stood up, an eerie calm washing over me. Finally. Something to focus on.

There were drag marks in the dirt. Some of the grass had been ripped out from the root. I followed along the long, deep marks until I saw smaller disturbances along the ground, like someone had been sitting there and pressed their hands down. Where the fingers are, there were deep rivets into the earth. Claws.

And all around, small spatters of blood would appear now and then. Some of the handprints had blood smeared along them.

When I stepped back to get a clearer picture of what could have happened, I tried to make sense of the scene before me. Two sets of prints—two people struggling. Boyd, for one, so based on what Derek just told me, logically that means Erica is the other. I didn't get the chance to ask where they went or why they left, but obviously they weren't ready. Obviously they ran into trouble.

I frowned down at the broken arrow in my hand and ran my finger along it, contemplating.

Or maybe trouble found them. What has Derek's biggest warning been from day one? The hunters. Even after the kanima was on the loose, Derek placed extreme emphasis on staying on our toes because of the _hunters_. And what's worse is Gerard is still connected to all of this. He has to be. He's an Argent; he's a _hunter_.

But I thought that the hunters favored guns. Every time I've met one in the past they smelt of gunpowder, didn't they? Chris… the one in the jail all those weeks ago. Outside the club. Hell, they filled the station with bullet holes just two weeks ago.

Wait. The one from the locker room used throwing knives. And… And Allison uses a crossbow. How big of a leap is it, really, from crossbow to bow and arrow?

And for someone using a bow, one needs distance. I turned all around the clearing, trying to find another trail. Except it was dark out and the trees blocked a lot of the moonlight that would have helped me. My vision was strong, but it didn't grant me psychic powers or anything.

I looked back at the tracks that sat in the middle of the clearing and before I let myself get frustrated, I breathed in deeply and closed my eyes.

Boyd's cologne. His blood and sweat. Erica, and her lotion she obsessively applies to her hands and neck. _Her_ blood and sweat. An overwhelming presence of fear stuck to the air like the lingering pungency of a rotting carcass.

And then, farther out in the wind, traces of cherries and metal. Gunpowder and gasoline. I turned towards it until it grew stronger, and opened my eyes.

There. On the ground, more tracks. Boot prints, two sets. One larger, one smaller—about the size of my boots. Allison. And lying in between the distance from where I stood to where those boot prints were, a damaged arrow.

A chunk had been torn out of it. Something shot it out of its trajectory—but what could do that? I went to pick it up and felt along the splintered ridge of the damage. A bullet, maybe? But why?

It doesn't matter. I already know a lot based on what I've found. I was torn, because if I follow this trail—if I follow it all the way to its end, there's no telling what I'll find or what will happen. I'm not fooling myself. There's a good chance I'll get hurt, or worse. Part of me thinks it would be a good idea to go back and get the others. But I really don't trust Peter, and there's… shall we say, _bad blood_ there. Furthermore, I'm not so sure Derek would give a good goddamn that Boyd and Erica got themselves captured. I'd like to think that he would go after his kidnapped pack— _former_ pack—but they left him. Would he be able to swallow his pride long enough to stroll right into the lion's den? Is it worth the risk?

And then, always weighing my mind, Stiles. But he's safe, isn't he? However it happened, he escaped, and he's home now. Boyd and Erica can't say the same thing.

Damn my guilty conscience. I can't do it. I have to make sure they're not—you know. _Dead_.

* * *

I looked at the house—at how huge it is. Truly, it's impressive. And remarkably well lit. I stuck to the shadows, stayed close to walls and crept along at a slow enough pace to not catch anyone's attention. I ducked behind things whenever I could because, what if they have infrared security cameras or something ridiculous like that? And I _did_ see cameras. An obnoxious amount of them. I guess I'm not surprised, since Gerard posted about six hundred of them at the school the minute he was in the principal's office.

It was tough to figure out how to traverse them, and to be honest with you, I'm not sure if I even pulled it off. I'm sure the security in this place has to be some next level shit, but I was as careful as I could have been.

I was confused at first when their scent led me to the side of the house, but that confusion quickly turned into determination when I saw the basement windows that lined the garden.

Alarm systems. They're easy to trick, if you know how. I was surprised at the low quality of the little button plopped in the middle of the windowsill—pressure sensors. I was expecting—I don't know. Motion sensors? Heat sensors? Shit, there's bound to be more to this than just some flimsy little _pressure_ sensors.

I looked around to see if anyone was watching or coming my way, but there was nothing. Apparently they didn't feel the need to patrol the sides of the house. A camera that was pointed directly at the basement windows probably saw everything I did, so there's a chance that this was totally a waste of my time to try, but… The last thing I wanted was to trip an alarm.

Also, I'm fresh out of tape. And frankly I didn't feel like shimmying through one of those super tiny basement windows anyway. So I kept going until I found a door that was basically glowing from all the light concentrated on it. This is it. This is the defining moment. I have no key; forcing my way inside is basically guaranteeing my own death sentence.

I looked up at the camera that perched over it and sighed, growing still as I realized the face was looking straight at me. It was too late now, so I wiggled my fingers and flipped it the bird, quickly hopping down the steps and grabbing the handle of the door.

I took another breath and cursed Boyd and Erica briefly before I gingerly turned the knob.

It opened.

 _It's a trap,_ my logic screamed.

But Boyd.

I slipped inside. As soon as I stepped over the threshold, the noises inside were impossible to ignore. Boyd and Erica's stench were overwhelming—and their grunts and whimpers were muffled.

Guns and ammo. Cases of bullets and knives lined the shelves that rested against the first wall I saw. It was darker back in this corner. I held my breath as I tiptoed along, looking over all the weapons that seemed to be stockpiled in this freaking hole in the ground.

Another wall had paper targets taped up, the kind with the silhouettes of people and the huge red dot directly over the heart. Most of the bullet holes were centered there, but two or three might have strayed to the head. _Charming_.

Strangely, all of the combat supplies were mixed in with what seemed to be antiques and the walls were painted a warm creamy yellow. It was unsettling, because if you took away the weapons, the basement itself was warm and inviting.

I shuddered and stepped out from behind the wall. In the center of the room, Boyd and Erica were hanging from electrical wires that strung across the ceiling and down, connected to large machines that sat close by and hummed with power.

Streams of electricity would flit down the wires and dance over their wrists. Their backs were to me but they were kicking up quite the fuss, swaying back and forth and trying to turn to get a look at me. Erica pushed her cheek into her arm and if she didn't have tape over her mouth, she'd probably be yelling at me.

I cast a look at the stairs that loomed in front of them. There were no shadows, no scents or sounds suggesting anyone was waiting for me at the top, or on the verge of barreling down and tying me up along with them.

Encouraging, no?

I stepped forward and a gun clicked nearby. Off to the corner in the opposite side of the room, Chris Argent stepped out of the shadows. His lip was snarled in anger and he had a gun pointed straight at my head.

"Don't move."

I sighed. Well, I _knew_ that was too easy. "Or what? You'll _shoot_ me?" I threw the broken arrow at him, and it struck his face.

He staggered back a step and reared up to retaliate, when his gaze hit the broken arrow on the ground and he froze. His outraged expression melted from anger to shock, and I watched his bright blue eyes flit back to me without turning his head. Chris pressed his lips together and seemed to deflate, which definitely caught me off guard.

I cast a look around the basement. Other than the four of us, it was empty. I came here expecting an ambush, at best. Violence at least. I let my eyes flicker back to Chris. "Where's Gerard? Why isn't he down here?"

"Gerard is—" He broke off, hesitating. "He's having some tarte tatin to celebrate our victory."

"You do know he doesn't mean lacrosse, right?" I darkly goaded, and Chris just stared at me. "Does he know I'm here?"

Because of his impending silence, I thought he wouldn't answer me. Boyd and Erica panted through their noses nearby. And then, minutely, he shook his head. "At first I thought he was celebrating because it was all over. Jackson is dead, and it's finally over. It was bad enough that he celebrated the death of my daughter's friend. But… I can't shake the feeling that it's only just begun." He looked at me as if curious as to what I thought of this, but I didn't offer him any opinion as I just waited for him to make a point. "You didn't even try to counter our security measures," He lowly observed, as if this was noteworthy.

"I was a little short on resources." I stepped forward and he put his hand up to signal me to stop. My jaw wiggled, and I slowly started to adjust to all the subtle scents that lingered in the basement. Cherries and metal. Gerard's sick scent and expensive aftershave. Chris's gunpowder, Boyd's cologne, Erica's lotion, their blood and sweat and—Stiles.

It struck me like a lightening bolt. Like when you've misplaced something and you look and you look and you look, and as soon as you stop—boom. It's right there. It has been the whole time, right in front of you. He was here. In this basement. In this room, he was taken _here_ —and he was beaten.

My eyes were fixed on a splatter of blood that lay near Erica and Boyd. They saw my gaze and their eyes were sad and knowing. Subtly, Boyd nodded at me. _Yes_ , he confirmed. _Yes_.

I think I might have been about to make a comment about how quickly I'd discovered the scene in the woods and tracked their trail back here, how easy it was for me to get to Boyd and Erica, and how little time I felt there was to spare, but suddenly… small talk didn't matter. Being diplomatic didn't matter, either.

Chris noticed my prolonged silence and he frowned, following our gaze, and when he saw the blood his face blanked and he sat up a little straighter. He finally lowered his gun and looked at me as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. I glowered at him from my spot, a quiet rage bubbling in my chest.

"Was it you?" I asked, quietly, a silent threat behind my words. "Did _you_ kidnap him from the field?"

Chris blinked and seemed, for a fleeting moment, to sympathize with me. But then it was gone and he set his jaw and squared his shoulders. "No." He said, short. Simple.

I looked him over. He's Allison's father. He's Gerard's son. _Gerard_. I can't trust a word that comes out of Gerard's mouth, how could I trust Chris?

"I don't believe you," I started, and Chris spoke over me.

"Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent." His words were smooth and fluent, like he'd said the same phrase countless times before. Like it was just his ABC's he recited for me, or the pledge of allegiance. And maybe it _is_ his pledge of allegiance. Not like the other hunter in the locker room had done. He didn't use it like a threat.

I paused for another beat, considering whether to even acknowledge it. In the end my curiosity won out. "What does that mean? The hunter from before said the same thing right before he attacked me. Should I be afraid?"

Chris seemed mildly disturbed at that question for some inexplicable reason. He looked at me like he was seeing me in a whole new light—like a grown up looks at a child. One part patronizing, two parts condescending. But at the same time, maybe just a little bit ashamed. Like he should know better than me, and he thought he did, but for the first time, realizing that maybe he didn't. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was doubt that he had on his face. _Yeah_. I can relate. He looked away and shook his head. "It used to mean something noble. It _used_ to mean safety. We hunt those who hunt us. It's supposed to mean that we _defend_ the innocent. Now…" He stared down at Stiles' spatter of blood and clenched his jaw, the muscle jumping exactly like Gerard's did. "I've never had to hunt kids before. It's never been an issue. But Derek started turning you, and it—What was I supposed to do?"

He looked at me like I could answer that for him. Like I could understand any part of what he was saying. I scowled incredulously and tilted my head at him. "Are you _asking_ me?"

He blinked and his face cleared again. "No. I'm trying to explain—"

"Fuck your explanation," I snarled, striding forward to jab my finger at Boyd and Erica. "That's all the explanation I need." A bitter snort escaped me. _Safety?_ I pointed at Erica, whose face glistened with tears and had singed skin around where the electrical wire had been placed because she couldn't heal properly. And Boyd, whose face was drawn into a stoic, unfeeling and cold stare. As if he'd detached himself from it all. "You did this. _You_. And if that's what nobility looks like, I'm thinking I'd rather live the rest of my life corrupt."

Chris sighed and shook his head. "It's not that simple—"

"It _is_ that simple. It is." Unable to comprehend how he could still stand there and defend what they were doing, I threw my hands up. "You hunt us because we're supernatural! Because we're _dangerous_." I pointed back at them. " _We're_ dangerous?"

"It's not that simple! Your kind kills!"

"And _your_ kind tortures kids," I said in disgust. I looked at him, as he visibly struggled to hold his side of the argument and tried not to let what I was saying sway him. I scoffed and shook my head. "How is _that_ any more natural than we are?"

He looked down and grew very quiet. Boyd and Erica seemed to hold their breath behind me, and I watched him as he suddenly reached out and flicked something on one of the machines.

Their high-pitched hum suddenly dropped several octaves and the basement grew markedly quieter. Chris looked at me and he appeared tortured himself, like he couldn't really tell if he'd just made a mistake. Erica and Boyd panted in relief behind us and I couldn't see the bright streams of electricity dancing across the wires anymore.

I looked back at Chris and he sighed. "I was coming down here to turn them off anyways. But then I saw you on the security footage, and I just… Needed to be sure."

I frowned and shifted in confusion. "I don't understand."

Chris smiled dolefully. "You will."

* * *

When he led me out to a large SUV, I have to admit that I was reluctant to trust him. It wasn't until he knocked out one of his own guards, locked him in a shed, and took his source of communications and his weapons, all just to keep him from sending out an alert, that I _finally_ realized he was for real.

We sat in the front seats silently. No music bled through the speakers. My thoughts jumped from Boyd and Erica, still strung up in the basement—Chris may have turned the electric current down low enough that they could shift, but he wouldn't go so far as to let me cut them free—to Stiles, sitting at home. Possibly expecting me by now, if Scott bothered to tell him I was coming. To Gerard and his plan, and his ignorance that his own son had turned against him.

Does he know? Surely not. Gerard is way too careful to let one of his own… well. Do whatever Chris is doing, which it _does_ seem like he's trying to help me, even if he won't explain where he's taking me. It's sort of ironic, actually. I turned down Gerard's offer to become a double agent for him, and still, I ended up in his basement tonight. Except I recruited a double agent of my own.

Okay. That's a bit of a stretch. Chris is _not_ working for me. It makes me chuckle just to think that. But he is, er… Did I mention that I have no idea what's going on? Something tells me if I ask Chris, he'll just ignore me. Better to sit silently, lest I say the wrong thing like usual and change his mind.

I sighed as we passed through a green light. There wasn't much traffic out in this time of night. That's a good thing because, well, no traffic. It's also a bad thing because that means there are no witnesses around. I chewed my lip and anxiously shifted in the smooth leather seat.

Unable to stay silent, I turned to him. "How do you keep this new car smell?"

He shot me a strange look and didn't bother to reply. I sighed and looked back out the window. Absently, I wondered where Allison was during all this. Was she enjoying a nice French dessert with her psycho grandpa? Was she sleeping off all that kidnapping she did earlier tonight? Or maybe she was conducting espionage like usual, and just _really_ good at hiding it from us.

Surely she knew about Boyd and Erica. But there's no _way_ she knew about Stiles. No matter how far gone she might be I think Allison seems like the kind of girl to protect her friends. I mean, hey, I can respect jumping off the deep end after a tragedy—I'm practically the _poster_ child for lost causes—but Allison is _not_ a lost cause. She's… good. Right? Yeah. Definitely.

So she's yet to see the light, unlike her father here. He put his turn signal on and got onto a bypass, and I shifted nervously again. Just how far out are we going? The Argents lived in a pretty well packed subdivision. There were plenty of rich neighbors around. It was even one of those _gated_ communities you see in the movies, but for real.

And Chris drove us straight out of there, past the school, past the lacrosse field… Past down town… Onto the bypass… Towards… The hospital?

I frowned and sat up to get a better look. Yes. That's the hospital sign he's turning towards. Um?

I turned to ask him what was going on when his driving distracted me. He sailed through the entrance and steered the huge boat towards the employee's parking lot.

"Hey, maybe we should slow down—" I grabbed the _Oh shit_ handle and braced myself on the roof of the car. My words slightly blurred together when he took another sharp turn and only seemed to speed up. "I know this is the hospital so if you hit someone it's not a huge deal but _still_ —"

We jerked around a corner, the wheels screeching against the pavement, and I screamed as two figures lit up in his headlights only a few feet away. He slammed on the brakes and we lurched forward, the nose of the damn thing stopping just before he hit either of them.

I gasped and suddenly I recognized one of those figures. Isaac, crouched and turned to the side. Then in front of him, facing him and also turned to the side, Scott. Isaac had something in his hands. It looked like a—body bag!? Scott hovered over his end and they both stared at us with huge wide eyes—literally deer in the headlights.

Before I could utter a single syllable, Chris shut the vehicle off and slid out of the driver's seat to step into the parking lot.

I clamped my mouth shut with a growl at being left behind and hurried after him. Scott was frowning at Chris in disbelief, but when he saw me climb out after him, his eyes practically popped out of his head.

"Savannah?" He exclaimed, looking back at Chris. "What are you doing here!? What—"

"What's going on?" Isaac finished. I opened my mouth to explain and realized that I had no explanation.

No matter, Chris covered it. "This must be confusing for all of you," He started, and we all gaped at him. The unspoken, _Ya think?_ echoed over us. "To be honest, I'm confused too. All I know is—" He broke off to look at me. "Gerard has taken things too far."

Scott looked from Chris to me, a puzzled and slightly distrusting expression on his face. I raised my eyebrows at Chris. "No argument here," I said, crossing my arms.

Chris looked back to the others. "Scott, you and I don't have a lot in common. But right now we have a common enemy."

Scott gestured down to the body bag. "I know, that's why I'm trying to get him out of here!"

I raised my eyebrows and suddenly it clicked. "Wait, is that Jackson?" The bag, even though it sat on the ground and neither Scott nor Isaac held it, wiggled. I gasped and stepped back. "What the fuck? He's _alive?"_

"Yes," Scott and Isaac chorused. "And he needs to be moved, _fast_." Scott looked at Chris urgently and I slowly processed this new bit of information. How did I miss _this?_

"Come on," Chris said, waving his arm at Scott and Isaac. "My car's faster." With that, he disappeared around the back of his SUV.

Isaac and Scott exchanged a stunned look, and they abruptly turned back to me.

I sighed and shook my head impatiently. "What's that saying? Don't look a gift horse in the mouth?"

"He's a _hunter!"_ Isaac pointed at him and Chris came back from around his car and waved them on again.

"Scott, come on," Chris urged. "Gerard has twisted his way into Allison's head, and I don't like it." Scott's mouth clamped shut and his face hardened knowingly. "I'm losing her."

We all let a beat pass, as I realized that Allison truly had jumped off the deep end. More than I knew.

"And I think you're losing her, too," Chris added, and Scott nodded after a moment. "So let's go."

* * *

"So Derek wants us to meet him at _another_ abandoned factory," I clarified, and Isaac nodded tiredly. I snorted. "Typical."

"I don't know why you're surprised," He quipped, smirking at me. I scratched my nose and sighed.

"Some things never change."

Isaac suddenly frowned, apparently considering something. We were in the back seat, between Jackson—who lay in the trunk and occasionally shifted in his bag, (which made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at end every time) and Scott and Chris who rode silently in the front seat. I raised an eyebrow at Isaac's expression and his frowned deepened. "Boyd and Erica? They're alive?"

I glanced at the back of Chris's head and nodded. Isaac seemed to relax into his seat, taking a deep breath. Before we left them, I took a moment to speak to Boyd and Erica. It wasn't easy for me to just leave them there. I insisted for a while that we cut them down and set them loose, but Chris said it was too risky. We'd be lucky if we could get out without Gerard noticing as it stood. Letting them go free would basically guarantee that the hunters would catch on, and then we'd all be in trouble.

So, reluctantly, I began to check over Boyd's injuries. He'd been hit with numerous arrows, and the wounds had hardly had time to heal before Gerard basically wrapped them in the frayed cord of a hairdryer and threw them in bathtubs. Metaphorically speaking, of course, but you know what I mean. He fried them until they should have been cooked and had smoke coming out of their ears—or, you know. _Wafting from their cooked skin_. The point is—I focused my attention on Boyd because he had more numerous, severe injuries than Erica did. But he just told me he was fine.

 _I'm just glad my muscles aren't cramped up anymore,_ he'd said. The comment caused me to throw a dirty look at Chris over my shoulder, for what little good it did. Bastards. I'd taken a moment to make sure Erica's seizures weren't about to kick back in, when I saw it. Boyd, looking at Erica with that same dopey expression that Stiles threw Lydia on the field earlier tonight.

After that, I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I mean, what am I? Hideous? Diseased? I'm not saying I'm interested in Boyd—that's not the point! It's just that it seems like all the men in my life don't even _see_ me. It's like they look right over me, even when I'm right in front of them.

And I let myself wallow in that one-woman-pity-party for about a fourth of a second before I shut it down and dragged my head back out of the clouds. They'd been through a lot, Erica and Boyd. For me to dwell on something so juvenile, or treat them any differently because they managed to find a piece of happiness in spite of all this shit would be… typical, actually. I'm trying not to be like that anymore. So I keep telling myself: At least they have each other now.

I sighed and clicked my tongue. "They're sticking together," I said, looking back at Isaac. "That's what will get them through." The optimism felt heavy and wrong on my tongue, and I smacked my lips again in distaste.

Isaac sensed it, too, and looked surprised to hear me say it. Before he could comment further Chris stopped the vehicle and announced that the GPS said we were here. The factory was pretty big. The tall beams we parked next to were painted with the yellow and black caution pattern, but I honestly had no idea what they were used for.

Isaac peered through the rear window of the SUV when he got out. "He stopped moving," Isaac noted.

I hummed uneasily. "Not so sure that's a good thing…"

Isaac looked at me, dread in his eyes, and Chris and Scott turned back to face the alley. I looked over all of them, but they just watched the end of the alley like they were waiting for something.

"What?" I whispered to Isaac, and he glanced at me with an eyebrow raised, his arms crossed. "What are we doing now?"

And before he could respond, Chris looked at Scott. "Where's Derek?"

 _Ah._ "Fashionably late," I helpfully supplied, though none of them looked quite appreciative at my sarcasm. "As usual," I smiled ironically at Chris and crossed my arms beside Isaac. "He moves at his own pace. It's annoying."

And then it happened. I had completely forgotten that this was even a thing—but Scott turned to look back down the alley as if something was coming. We followed his gaze, and—sure enough, Derek came bounding out of the shadows at the end.

I barked out a surprised laugh as soon as I realized he was running on all-fours like he did the first time he tried to train me.

"The Scooby-Doo Scramble!" I laughed, pointing at him as he ran like an idiot. Chris looked at me like I was soft in the head, giving Scott a questioning look. Scott didn't even bother to respond as he turned back and tried to maintain _some_ sobriety to his entrance. But I couldn't help myself.

By the time Derek had reached us, and it didn't take long, I was howling with laughter.

And then—to top it off—he did a _back flip_. That's right. I can't make this stuff up, people.

I burst out with another loud laugh and grabbed Isaac's shoulder for support, wiping at a tear in my eye when Derek knelt dramatically on the pavement and panted like some sort of comic book character. "Hah!" I barked. "Stop, _please_ , no more!" I cackled, and Chris looked at me uncomfortably.

Derek's eyes flashed bright red, and he slowly rose to his feet, his signature scowl focused on me.

I pointed at him with a huge grin, sighing heavily. "Yes," I smiled. "I needed that. Thank you. _Truly_."

"Shut up," He snapped, his head whipping to the right to focus his laser vision on Chris. "What's _he_ doing here?"

"I'm not here for you." Chris immediately restored the serious tone to this scenario, his deep voice somber and totally without humor as it resounded over the dark alley. I felt the lightness in me ebb, and dropped my hand from Isaac's shoulder. He glanced briefly at me and I ignored him as Chris continued. "I'm here for Jackson."

"Somehow I don't find that very comforting," Derek nodded. _Sass._ Peter is rubbing off on him. He looked back to me and Scott like Chris wasn't even there. "Get him inside."

Scott nodded and stepped back and I stepped back, ignoring Derek's gaze just as he ignored me. _Ah_ , I noted. _The random, temperamental cold shoulder commences_. Derek and I have such a fickle relationship. I think he might be annoyed that I left so suddenly when we were in the midst of searching for Jackson, only to turn up some time later with Jackson in hand and Chris at my side.

Oh, well. Bigger tasks were at hand than analyzing the inner workings of Derek's complicated thought process. I helped Isaac and Scott gather Jackson from the trunk, a sort of anxiety building in the pit of my stomach and creating jittery movements in me. As we carried him inside, the fog only seemed to thicken around us. When we stepped into the factory it was somewhat relieving, if only to regain some much needed visibility.

"Where are they?" Scott asked, once Jackson was lying safely on the ground inside and the others had gathered around. Derek frowned at him questioningly. "Peter and Lydia," He clarified. Scott shifted wearily when Derek's face hardened and he turned away from him. "Wait! You said you could _help_ him!

"We're past that now," Derek dismissed, stepping over Jackson's body bag. I shifted in place, my fists clenching in disbelief as he dragged the zipper down and revealed Jackson—half shifted, covered in a transparent, slimy cocoon of some kind. _Ew!_

" _What?_ " Scott cried. Oh, okay. I guess we all knew about this slimy cocoon Jackson's in. Cool. "What about—"

" _Think_ about it, Scott!" Derek snapped, turning to glare at him as he stood over Jackson. "Gerard _controls_ him now."

Chris stepped forward in shock and my hand twitched to grab him, but I stopped myself at the last second.

"He's turned Jackson into his own personal guard dog!" Derek insisted. Chris incredulously shook his head. "And he set all of this in motion so Jackson could get even bigger, and more powerful."

"No."

Derek's head whipped around to glare at Chris.

"No, he wouldn't do that!" Chris shook his head and scowled at Derek. "If Jackson's a dog, he's turning rabid. And my father wouldn't let a rabid dog live."

"Of _course_ not!" Gerard suddenly interjected. We all jumped like a bunch of kids caught breaking the rules when Gerard came walking in from some other part of the factory.

I gawked at the old man as he strolled forward, with all the satisfaction of a classic villain who was about to execute his master plan. What is this, some cheesy soap opera? This kind of shit doesn't happen! How did he know where we were?

And then I remembered the bond he shared with Jackson, and recoiled at the fact that he could be so closely connected to him that he could literally _sense_ where he was at. How much of what Jackson's been doing lately is even _him?_ How much is actually Gerard?

"Anything that dangerous—that out of control… is better off dead," He added, only serving to confuse us further, because actually, what Derek was saying just before he was interrupted made a lot of sense. Gerard would probably want Jackson more powerful since that would mean he held a more powerful weapon at his disposal. And now he's standing there, trying to tell us that Jackson is better off dead?

Derek, seizing the moment of shock that kept everyone distracted, swiped his claws down towards Jackson's throat. But Jackson's arm shot out of the bag and he sat up, his long, razor-like talons piercing Derek's chest so forcefully that he lifted him off the ground.

I jumped back in shock and Chris reflexively drew his gun on Jackson even though we already knew it wouldn't make a bit of difference. Derek hung over Jackson's body for a moment, quietly grunting, and I felt my stomach and heart lurch.

In all the time I've known him, I never imagined the day that I'd see blood spill from Derek Hale's mouth. He was so sure of himself. So confident. Even if something unexpected happened, he rolled with it, and overcame it. He's a _leader_.

So seeing him skewered like a pig on a spit before my eyes was something of a shock. I breathed out a stunned gasp and watched as Jackson didn't stop. He just kept going, rising farther up, lifting Derek higher and higher, until, suddenly—he swung his arm forward and flung Derek like a cannon ball out of a catapult.

Derek's dead weight launched across the room and crashed through a plastic curtain.

For a moment, no one moved. No one even _breathed_.

And then, like someone pressed play on the movie, it all started up again. Scott looked immediately back to Gerard and I turned to gawk at Jackson, who stood like a zombie. His arms dangled down at his side and head limply hung on his chest like he was asleep standing up.

"Well done to the last, Scott." Gerard sounded oddly pleased when he said this. For a moment I was confused what that meant, because it sounded like a congratulations on a job well done.

Then it hit me. Gerard still thinks Scott is in on it with him. He's thanking him, for granting him the opportunity to kill Derek! My eyes widened and I grew rigid at the realization.

"Like the concerned friend you are, you brought Jackson to Derek to save him. You just didn't realize that you were also bringing Derek to _me_."

Highlighting his words, a high-pitched whistle cut through the air as an arrow whizzed straight for Scott's head. He ducked in time and it missed him, but Isaac stood behind him.

As soon as the arrow hit his shoulder, Isaac's face twisted with pain. In moments, he collapsed on the ground. I cursed under my breath and quickly dropped by his side. He grunted in pain as I slid my hands under his shoulders to lift him up and haul him back on his feet.

After Scott took a moment to recover from the shock at seeing his girlfriend betray us with his own eyes, he immediately turned to help me with Isaac and we dragged him behind some crates.

"What did _I_ do!?" Isaac hissed when I touched the arrow in his shoulder. I snorted at the immature question and told him to duck next time. He grunted angrily at this and I told him to shut up.

"Count to three—"

"Wait!"

I snapped the end off, and he roared at me and grabbed me by the shoulders. Scott intervened, prying Isaac's hand off me long enough to distract him. That's when I plunged my fingers back into his wound and snatched the arrowhead out.

Isaac almost passed out, and I let the stupid thing clatter to the cement.

"You could have warned him a little," Scott said, and I shook my head.

"Not my style."

"Bitch," Isaac growled, and I lightly smacked his cheek.

"You're welcome!"

And that was all the time we had for that. Before we knew it, Derek had revived himself (the guy just won't quit) and flipped over a tall crate. See? Good as new.

I have to admit, it was good to see him still kicking. Scott rose to his feet and I stood beside him, and Isaac joined us, if a little more slowly and breathlessly.

Derek ran at Jackson—who, at some point during our little medical pit stop—had fully shifted into the kanima. Except, it was more like the Kanima 2.0, because its spine was rigid like there were bones wanting to protrude.

They met in the middle and clashed with a loud hiss, Derek swiping for Jackson's throat and being blocked _yet_ again. No matter, he swung his other arm and managed to knock the kanima back a step with a well-placed punch.

But it didn't last long. The kanima, more annoyed than anything, whirled back around and sliced across Derek's stomach with his razor-sharp claws. Then, without pausing to see what happened to Derek as he stumbled back, the kanima turned and swung its claws over to Scott.

It plunged them in his stomach and dug them in deeply much as it had done to Derek earlier, and I waited until it had Scott lifted in the air to kick it in its back and knock it off balance.

It staggered forward and turned to roar at me, and I crouched and returned in kind. Isaac grabbed it from behind, and Derek, the parkour junkie he is, scaled a structure behind us.

The kanima broke Isaac's grasp and grabbed him by the throat, his claws digging into his neck as Isaac claws at its wrist in instinct. I cut my fist up into the kanima's elbow and it dropped Isaac to grab my arm before I could retract.

I realized my mistake too late. Isaac, apparently not heeding my earlier advice _at all_ , didn't even manage to duck in time. The kanima's claws plunged into my stomach like five poison coated daggers, and he lifted me up through the air.

For a moment I felt weightless. Sure, my stomach was on fire and I think I felt a bone snap when I collided against Isaac and we went tumbling backwards, but still. For that brief moment, I floated in the air—and then everything crashed back down to earth.

Or, more specifically, crashed into a bunch of wooden crates. We landed in a tangle of limbs and for a scary second I couldn't catch my breath. The wind had been knocked from my lungs and I thought my head was going to explode with pressure. Or maybe that was the impact against the cement. Tomatoes, tomah-toes. The wooden crates in front of me dimmed to black, and the hazy lights overhead swam in my vision, and I thought I heard someone say my name.

I blinked and the breath rushed back into my lungs in a crippled gasp. Underneath me, Isaac was just as winded, except he had my added weight keeping him down. I tried to move but my body wouldn't respond. Panic grabbed me and immediately I thought I'd been paralyzed, but then I took another breath, and the feeling in my arms rushed back with a cold, prickling pain.

I grunted sorely and pushed myself up, lifting off his torso to roll onto the ground in a breathless heap. No sooner had I taken another breath, Isaac pushed himself to his feet beside me. I thought to tell him not to move, but the words didn't reach my lips in time.

"Wait, Isaac," I managed, as he started forward and then was abruptly stopped by Allison. Anger bubbled in my chest when she slashed daggers across his stomach and he bent at the waist in agony.

She wasn't done there. Weakly, he tried swiping at her head, and she ducked (oh, my god, Isaac.) and plunged her knives into his back.

How fitting. I watched him collapse, and so did she. Taking a leaf from Derek's book, I reached out to grab her ankle while she was distracted and pulled as hard as I could. She hit the ground with a loud cry of pain when her head banged into a cart, and I rolled onto my knees.

She reached back for her knife, which had fallen out of her grasp, and I didn't waste time in straddling her to pin her arms down. I grabbed her by the hair and lifted her up, slamming her head against the ground again.

Allison cried out in pain and I smiled, taking sick pleasure in finally knocking this bitch down a peg.

But I didn't see it in time. Not until I lifted her head back up to do it again—properly knock her out, you know—and she waited until her eyes met mine. A cold purposeful glint shined in her usually warm brown eyes, even as a small trickle of blood made its way down her snow-white forehead, and I felt my grin vanish because that's the same expression that Matt wore, and before I could move, something sharp plunged itself deep into the middle of my chest.

Stars swam in my vision and I couldn't hope to hold my grip on her. I couldn't hope to hold anything, as all my energy went towards trying to back off whatever was stabbing me in the chest. But she followed me as I suddenly lurched backwards.

The pain was relentless. It tingled through my heart, my lungs, my stomach, up my back, down my legs—oh, _god_ , it was _everywhere_ —until finally—it didn't hurt quite as much. The wound was hot, and wet, but when she pulled the dagger out and pushed me down on the ground, it was suddenly cold.

I looked at her, dazed. Her long dark hair flew in her face as she lifted her arm over her head, and I realized she was going to do it again. The muscles in my stomach tightened to brace for impact when Scott screamed out her name.

She froze. The kanima, coming out of the left field, seized her lifted wrist. The dagger clattered to the ground beside my head, the metallic reverberation sticking out in my mind for some inexplicable reason. Probably because it was the weapon that just pierced my freaking _heart_. The kanima grabbed her other hand and twisted her arms behind her back.

Then it grabbed her neck tightly, and she gasped in shock. Because who's controlling the kanima? Who's directing it whom to attack? Her grandpa. _Gerard_.

I let my head fall back because it was too heavy to keep lifted. I could feel my body furiously working to heal the wound in my chest, and I prayed that my expedited healing would hurry the fuck up and stop the inexorable _fire_ from radiating across my body.

Then Gerard came back onto the scene. It was hard for me to focus through the pain—because, I don't know if you've been stabbed, but trust me when I tell you it's impossible to ignore. It _demanded_ to be felt. I tried to listen to what happened around me, really, I did. But it was pointless. As dramatic as it sounds, I thought there was a good chance that I might die on that floor.

And I was so _angry_ about it. But faster than my fury could build, it suddenly became easier to breath. The piercing, insistent, overwhelming pain my chest subsided long enough for me to finally gasp in a breath. I tasted blood on my lips and choked on something in my mouth.

Suddenly, I couldn't stop coughing. Someone grabbed my shoulder to roll me on my side. I choked out the blood from my throat and blinked, my eyes threatening to roll in the back of my head as I tried to focus on the face above me.

 _Isaac_. I _told_ him to duck. This is partly _his_ fault! I snarled at him and my vision waned again as I gulped in fast, shuddering breaths. He murmured something to me, but I didn't catch it. And then his hand left my back and I willed the room to stop spinning as I lay there on my side and drew in slow, steady breaths.

 _In_. My heart thudded, and this time it caused less pain. _Out_ … Thud. _In_. _Out_ … Thud. _In_ … _Out_. _In_ … _Out. In…. Out. In…_

 _"_ MOUNTAIN ASH!" Gerard bellowed behind me. On trembling arms, I finally pushed myself into a sitting position, as Gerard fell to his knees some distance away.

Everyone stood around with their mouths agape and I watched in wild confusion as black ink dripped from every available point out of Gerard. His eyes. His nostrils. His ears. The bite mark on his wrist.

 _What the hell? What'd I miss? Seriously!? Did I miss the whole thing!_

And then he looked straight at Scott, his lip trembling in that distinct, _'Uh God. I'm gonna—'_ his head snapped back and he gasped in pain. He seemed to be fighting something back, but whatever was happening willed its way through his body. Much like my own pain had just demanded to be felt, whatever was happening to Gerard clearly didn't need his permission to happen.

And then it finally broke free. In a thick stream of jet black, inky substance, something spewed out of Gerard's mouth like he was a broken fire hydrant from hell. I pushed myself up to get a better look, my stomach feeling sick and my chest feeling sore, and I watched Gerard expel whatever was coursing through his body until finally—he collapsed.

But he wasn't dead yet. I pushed myself gingerly to my feet and gawked at the man as he weakly gasped for breath on the ground.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Derek asked. I looked over and saw him still curled on the ground, half-shifted, his eyes their normal human green shade and focused on Scott.

Scott turned away from Gerard to look down at Derek on the pavement. "Because you might be an alpha, but you're not mine."

My eyes snapped to Derek and he breathed out a breath, apparently left speechless. He looked at me and I don't know if _he_ did, but I reflected on the fact that this now made _everyone_ who used to be in his pack. Everyone had left him. And it started with me.

I'm not sure if it mattered to him who it started with or not, but the befuddled expression on his face slowly drained. He looked back to Scott, who didn't offer another word. And then over to Isaac, who cast a glance my way.

Derek looked back up at Scott and seemed to want to say something, when Gerard pushed himself off the ground and crawled a few inches forward. He threw up more of the black liquid and I felt my stomach roll in nausea at the sound of it.

Gerard lifted his head, and with a surprisingly strong voice, he said, "Kill them—"

Allison sobbed in denial behind us, still being held tightly around the throat by the kanima.

"KILL THEM _ALL!"_ He bellowed, his voice unbelievably loud for someone who just had their internal organs liquefied and threw them up. Or, maybe he threw up all the blood in his body. I'm not totally sure. With that final command, he collapsed, unmoving and head turned away from us.

We looked back to the kanima to see what it would do—but when Gerard finally grew still, it dropped its hand from Allison's throat and peered at his limp body in confusion.

Allison didn't hesitate to ram her elbow into the kanima's face, sending it hissing forward a few steps. Enough to allow her to go free, but before anything else could happen, there was a loud explosion that came from the exit of the factory.

I almost collapsed at the sight of the jeep's headlights as the tires squealed across the cement floor. It tore into the place at an alarmingly fast rate, and mowed straight into the kanima.

I held my breath as the beast roared in agony, afraid to see it spring back to its feet and pull Stiles out of the jeep with its clawed hands. Fear paralyzed me in place, and my limbs were frozen in its icy grip.

Everything stopped as we all waited to see what would happen. After all, Gerard had gotten back up so many times, and so had Derek. And I suppose, so had I. Then again—none of us were hit by a speeding jeep.

"Did I get it?" Stiles terrified voice squeaked from the jeep.

Anticipation shocked my heart like a defibrillator. _It's him._ Truly, he's here. _Finally_. Suddenly, my blood was pumping furiously through my veins, and when the kanima leapt onto the hood and Stiles yelled I lurched forward.

" _No!"_ I exclaimed, my hand reaching out in terror as Scott grabbed me round the waist and dragged me back, yelling at me to stop. "No!" I yelled, again, this time at Scott.

His hands were locked like iron bars though, and they caged me in place and lifted me off the ground as I kicked furiously against him and watched the kanima crouching over the hood of the jeep, flicking its tail through the air.

A distinctly female screech came from the jeep and I paused in my thrashing.

"Stop! Jackson!" _Lydia_. She practically fell out of the jeep and I grew still in shock, my stomach sinking like a rock.

Wait. Lydia? In the jeep? Lydia in the jeep—with Stiles? They came together?

 _Oh_. Stiles quickly followed out after her, and as he barreled out of the jeep and I finally saw him standing there in the flesh with my own eyes, my heart vaulted in my chest and then slammed back into my ribs.

My body was gripped tightly in place. Every part of me held still as Stiles bolted straight past Lydia and the kanima. Our eyes met and I didn't even have to pry Scott's hands off as I threw myself at Stiles and met him half way.

I rocketed into his arms and I think I might have let out a cry as I squeezed him as hard as I could manage. He choked at the pressure, wheezing lightly, and I immediately let go because I think I probably hurt him just a little.

I grabbed him by the face and was about to yell at him—for—well—I don't know, actually, but it didn't matter because he flinched and I stepped away from him like I'd burned him, immediately apologizing.

Then I saw it. Running along his cheekbone, a smattering of raw skin, as if he'd been thrown face-first into a carpet. It was already starting to bruise, along with the corner of his lip, which also sported a small spot of broken skin.

The blood on the Argents' carpet. It's from this? _This_ is what they did to him? As I took in his injuries, I felt my heart steady in my chest and my anger simmered, low and slow. My mouth parted as I reached out with shaking fingers to touch his cheek, and I stopped halfway when his dark eyes flicked over my shoulder and his face changed as focused on something behind me.

I turned to see Lydia, holding something out to Jackson. Her body was trembling in terror and she had her eyes squeezed shut, but she held that thing between them like it was a shield and he was a sword.

 _A key._

A key? I looked back at Stiles and my mind flashed back to the key he'd given me, and suddenly I understood. In a rare moment of overwhelming sympathy, it became impossible for me to hate Lydia in any capacity. Because as I turned around and looked at her and Jackson again, I could actually understand how intense this moment was for them, and I could empathize.

It was enough to make Jackson remember himself. He started shifting, right there. The planes of the skin on his legs and his hips, across his chest and up his arms, fading from dark green to tan. And then, slowly, gently, he reached out and took the key from her.

She looked absolutely heartbroken as he took it from her, and Jackson didn't look too far off the mark when he looked back up at her. He stumbled away from her, and it seemed like it could have been a _real_ moment for him. One of those moments that people like Jackson and I can only dream about—the ones that wake you up and make you realize the consequences of your actions and that maybe… Maybe you don't have to hurt this way anymore. Maybe you can—

Derek rushed forward, his hand out and claws piercing Jackson's stomach at the same instant that Peter's pierced his back. Together, they lifted Jackson off the floor, letting their claws sink deeper and deeper into his flesh.

Lydia gasped as the boy she loved was stabbed in front of her, and I think Scott might have started forward like he could stop it. But then he realized that he couldn't—it was way too late.

Jackson sputtered out a cough, and when they finally let him down, he was able to stay on his feet for a few seconds until his eyes rolled shut and he swayed dangerously.

Lydia hurried to try and hold him up as he slid to his knees. I grabbed the pendant around my neck and tried to fight back the sadness that overcame me when I finally saw just how much Lydia cared for Jackson. Admittedly, I felt like a grade A jackass for resenting her because Stiles has a crush on her.

Blindly, I reached my hand around beside me until I felt Stiles' fingers brush mine, and I latched onto that lifeline without looking.

Jackson gasped, and, breathlessly he whispered, "Do you—" He drew in a breath and looked at Lydia like she was the only one in the building who mattered. And to him, she was. "Do you still—"

"Yes." Lydia's tears spilled down her cheeks and she nodded her head as she fought back a sob. "Yes, I do." She sighed miserably and nodded her head again. "I do, I do still love you. Yes."

Jackson, looking inexplicably relieved and at peace to hear those words from her, closed his eyes. He sighed and leaned forward to rest his head on her shoulder, and I bit my lip as my throat tightened and my eyes burned.

 _Shit_. I drew in a deep breath through my nose as my eyes welled and clenched my jaw. _Stop it._ I resisted the urge to grumble at myself as my eyes betrayed me and hot tears welled over my cheeks, and I gasped when fingers laced through mine.

I looked to see Stiles, gripping my hand even as my fingers still hung limply between his. But that didn't last long as I gripped his hand back and looked up at him. Despite the undeniable sadness and regret that ached in my chest from—so many things—I also felt warm as I looked at him.

He didn't look at me. His eyes were trained on the scene in front of us, where Lydia was still wrapped around Jackson as she sobbed over him and continued to whisper that she loved him. But his hand gripped mine tightly and he wouldn't budge if I tried to let go.

So I didn't. Try to let go, I mean.

Allison audibly noted the fact that Gerard was missing, and Lydia stood from Jackson's body and turned around. She squeezed her eyes shut and she stood still for a moment, her back to him. Though it obviously pained her to do so, she took another step away. And another. Stiles' grip on my hand tightened.

And then Jackson's claws raked the floor. Everyone froze. The breath in my throat stilled, as I watched with wide eyes as Lydia whirled around. Jackson's eyes snapped open and they were—blue. Bright blue. Like mine.

Stiles stepped closer to me, and slightly in front of me as Jackson slowly began to sit up. Faintly, I was amused that he was shielding me from Jackson, and I grabbed the other side of his wrist and tried to pull him behind me. But he wasn't having it; he tucked my arm behind him and practically restrained me so that he was in front.

I peeked around him to watch as Jackson rose—and it finally dawned on me that he was stark naked. But that's the last thing I was worried about—because he uncurled to his full height and threw his head back, unleashing a roar so loud that it seemed to shake the very ground beneath us.

"Damn," I breathed, and Stiles looked back at me.

Lydia threw herself at Jackson and they embraced. Beside me, Stiles breathed out a disbelieving laugh that might have been the slightest bit bitter. I tightened my grip on his hand and he glanced at me, his eyes fluttering as he processed some emotion that I couldn't quite catch.

I looked down at our hands and waited for the usual rush of embarrassment that came with being so… intimate with him. I mean, I know holding hands isn't super intimate, but for me—well. Ya know? It's kind of a big deal. Still, the embarrassment never came. Only the warmth.

And… maybe a smidge of anxiety that he would finally decide to let go.

* * *

We sat in the living room later that night, a movie playing on the television, but neither of us even attempted to pretend we were watching it.

There wasn't much distance between us. Stiles seemed to gravitate towards me after what happened in the factory tonight. It's like, ever since he grabbed my hand he can't seem to let go. I'm not complaining, I'm just… worried. I don't mind, you know, lending him some support for now. It's just that I'm not _used_ to supporting people. I'm not sure I could handle this becoming… permanent. I'm not strong enough for someone to lean on. That's just the sad truth. I guess I can't help but feel like I'm some sort of… rebound, or something. I have to be honest with myself, and I know Stiles is hurting over Lydia's blatant rejection.

I guess an _I told you so_ would be unwelcome in this situation. Besides, I'm not sure that I ever _did_ say anything to him about Lydia. It's a sore subject. For both of us, but for different reasons.

"It's gonna be morning in a couple of hours," I quietly noted, and Stiles breathed in, as if he had been deep in thought and I just suddenly brought him out of it. He looked at me and then over at the window with a sigh.

"Yeah… Which means dad will be home, too." He shook his head and slouched a little. "I don't know what I'm gonna tell him."

"What do you mean?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, not at me, but at the situation, as he said, "I mean, Jackson isn't dead. My dad is gonna be—" He broke off, pressing his lips together as he struggled to find the words. "I mean, what do you say about that? How—how do we explain that away?"

I nodded, my eyes on my lap and lips pursed. "Well, who says you have to? Why can't you just leave the explaining to someone else for a change?"

Stiles frowned, contemplating this. He looked down at his lap as if it held all the answers. After a few moments, he said, "Seriously? You think that could work?"

"I'm just saying maybe don't bring it up to him. Maybe he'll… leave you be."

Stiles snorted dubiously, and I sighed and shifted away from him. When our hands started to tug apart, he immediately tightened his grip. I tried not to let my expression change as I pretended to focus on the screen.

"You asked," I said, and Stiles hummed at me.

His thumb ran across the back of my hand and my stomach fluttered in response.

 _Ugh_. I swallowed nervously _. He knows hands are my weakness, right?_ I snuck a peek down at them, watching as he traced small circles but almost didn't seem to be aware of doing so. _Okay_. _Maybe I would be okay with this becoming permanent_.

We stayed up for the rest of the night. I think we were both too wired to sleep anyways. In fact, neither of us brought up the prospect of going to sleep at all. I think for Stiles, part of it was that he just didn't want to be alone. I say that because I've been watching him pretty closely, and... He glanced at the clock frequently as his mind raced. He shifted a lot, too. So I know he was aware of the time; it's not like it just passed and he was too preoccupied to even notice.

Which meant the thought of leaving me to the couch had to have crossed his mind. And still, he stayed. We sat through the movie, and then a few infomercials, and finally landed on animal planet. _Animal_. _Planet_.

I honestly have no clue what was happening on that freaking channel. But I didn't dare reach for the remote, because it was on the other side of Stiles and we were already holding hands, more bodily contact would just be _too much_ for me. Thus, I suffered through the hour-long spurts of a program called Finding Bigfoot, or something.

It was still dark out at this point. The 'crew', or whatever you call them, was conducting research in a wooded area. They thought if they strung up a lollipop and banged on some pots, maybe the Sasquatch would come searching for some sugar. The experts told the camera crew that Sasquatches love sugar. It's the one food they naturally gravitate towards. No, seriously. That's what they thought would attract a Bigfoot. I'm being for real. They strung up a lollipop, pulled out a stainless steel pot, and started banging it against the tree.

Actually, I was kind of sucked in. That's when I heard it. Out the window, I heard the distinct, unmistakable howl of a wolf. I sat up and turned towards the yard.

"Did you hear that?"

Stiles turned to look at me, the spot where his chin had been resting against his hand slightly red. "Huh? Hear what? It was the Bigfoot. They found it."

"They didn't _find it_ ," I impatiently dismissed, waving him off as I craned my neck to look outside. "They'll never _find it._ It doesn't exist."

"How do you know?" Stiles challenged, his eyes glinting with amusement as I sat up in annoyance.

"What?" I snapped. "Are you serious?" He blinked. I narrowed my eyes. "It's a myth."

"I'm sorry, aren't you a _werewolf?"_

I scoffed and gave him a deadpan look, to which he just raised his eyebrows at me. Finally, I reached over to smack at him, petulantly pulling my hand out of his grasp. "Shut up," I pouted.

He smirked and reached back over to grab my hand again, turning to face the television like it was a natural response. I sighed to cover my smile.

And I dropped it. The howl, I mean. But it still bothered me for the rest of the night.

* * *

 _ **AYYYYYEE. I'm smiling so big right now you guys. Seriously. THE END OF THE SEASON IS UPON US. I thought, you know, if anything called for a chapter twice as long as usual, then the actual end to a season finale definitely counts.**_

 _ **Next chapter we will be kicking off what happens in Beacon Hills (As it concerns Savannah & Co.) in the time between seasons two and three. WHICH MEANS, FINALS! *Screams* SUMMER! *Screams again.* So much excitement. Well... what'd you think!? PLEASE TELL ME, I'M DYING TO KNOW, I SWEAR. I hope the action scenes were okay. Oh, full disclosure, I've never been stabbed before. (Knock on wood) So I have no idea if that description was accurate from before, but ... I'd imagine that it would go a little something like that. Blinding pain. The inability to focus on anything else. That sort of thing. I thought I had a little bit of a creative license since Savannah has supernatural healing, but whatever. If you happened to have been stabbed before, first of all, HOLY SHIT! I bet you have a cool scar. Also I'm really sORRY THAT HAPPENED TO YOU. Second of all, Um, if it was totally inaccurate, well... then I'm sorry for that, too.**_

 _ **Okay. Enough of that. Celebrate! End of the season, yaaaaay!**_


	50. Changing Seasons (Kind Of)

_**For this chapter, I don't have a quote from a song. Instead, I have a song that I thing scores the the mood of the chapter really nicely. It's just a really nice, kind of sweet acoustic bit. It's called Bloom (Bonus Track) by The Paper Kites. So if you want to listen to something relaxing with good lyrics, go look it up!**_

* * *

I fell asleep on him. Full on, mouth open, dead to the world asleep. And it gets worse. Sheriff is the one who woke me. Which, of course, means he saw the whole thing. I don't think he was surprised a bit, though, because when he prodded my leg this morning, he didn't say a word about it.

"Savannah," He whispered. I closed my mouth and smacked my lips slightly, snuggling my face deeper and willing whatever prodded my calf to buzz off. "Savannah, come on. Wake up."

I grunted and reached out to blindly push the intruding hand away, wrapping my fingers tightly around my blanket in a subconscious attempt to ward off the classic 'rudely-rips-off-covers' move. Everything was perfect. I was warm, I felt happy, and the couch tightened its arm around my—

I gasped and snapped my head up. Drearily, I blinked and tried to make sense of what I was lying against. That's a chest. Attached to the chest were arms. One of which wrapped around my back softly, serving to hold me comfortably on the couch and keep me from falling into the floor. The other was lying across his stomach and I realized that our fingers were still laced together. And on those arms were short, grey sleeves—which consisted of a smaller part of the larger shirt that I had mistaken as my blanket. My fingers were still clutching the hem of his shirt and that side of it rode up on his stomach, and I squeaked at how wildly intimate that felt—and I snatched my arm out from under him and immediately pulled away.

Stiles' head was flopped back against the top of couch, his mouth wide open and face completely at peace. I never noticed how much he expressed with his face until this moment, but it stood out now more than ever since it was virtually vacant. And then the moment was shattered as he scrunched his eyebrows and nose slightly, and turned sideways to readjust with his cheek pressed against the back of the couch and his legs stretched out, and reached his hand out to pat around the cushion until he hit my arm. He literally dragged me back across the couch like his pillow until I was nestled back into his side, and then seemed to immediately settle. I didn't fight him because the last thing I wanted was for him to wake up.

 _Um._ Holding perfectly still, I looked over at Sheriff, who seemed equally puzzled at this behavior from his son. He turned his confusion onto me and I just opened my mouth awkwardly before clamping it shut. Stiles rested his chin against the top of my head and I tried to peek around without moving my neck. Confusion frozen on his face, the sheriff's eyes darted back to his son as he whispered, "Bathroom's free."

It took me a moment to process what that meant. As soon as it hit me—he was giving me a free pass to get the fuck out—I gently pried Stiles' hand from my arm and placed it back onto his own body before detangling myself from him and bolting away like a frightened animal. The bathroom door clicked gently behind me and I took a moment to sigh, trying my best not to think of the implications that Sheriff will walk away from that whole interaction with. _Crap_.

* * *

Fresh air. A warm breeze. Sunshine, humming bugs, and twittering birds. No, I'm not reciting a poem to you. It's just that the afternoon was so perfect; it was almost hard to believe what my night was filled with. The part with—uh, Gerard, you know. Not the part with Stiles. Anyways, you get it.

Grass tickled my ankles as I pulled the mower out of the shed, the sweet smell of gasoline and oil trapped inside. A fat bumblebee buzzed over my head on its way to wherever bumblebees go, and I gasped and dropped the handle to jump back.

 _Hate. Bees._

I shook out my fright and looked around the door and peeked inside the tool shed to be sure the bumblebee had seriously gone. Then, crankily grumbling under my breath, I dragged the mower out onto the grass and turned it around to face the yard.

After I closed up the shed door behind me, I pushed the mower over to the far corner of the backyard, kicking a small shovel into the overgrown garden as I passed it. Unfortunately, kicking a single shovel out of the way wouldn't be enough to clear the yard.

The lacrosse goal that Stiles had set up had weeds sprouting around it. It's insane how much grass can grow in two week's time. Sheriff had kept up pretty well with keeping the yard trimmed while he had all that time off of work, but since then, it's gone unmanaged. I suppose the blame lay equally between all of us, but personally, I can't sit still another day while this grass continues to just spew out of the earth unkept.

Turns out I was right about the whole, don't mention anything about Jackson's miraculous revival to Sheriff... thing. After my absurdly long, purposely drawn out shower this morning, I emerged from the steamy bathroom to find that Stiles had moved from the couch to join his father in the kitchen.

When I stepped inside, Sheriff was going on and on about Stiles' success at the game last night. It seemed to me like maybe the Sheriff was… overcompensating. Like, if he didn't acknowledge Jackson's death, maybe we could all avoid the Lydia topic altogether. Because from what Stiles described about the events upon his return from his _voyage dans la Argents_ , Lydia showed up at the Stilinskis' house unannounced and uninvited.

All I can say is… I'm glad I wasn't here. Seriously, I'm not sure how I would have reacted to that. I mean, what could I say? A mental image of me opening the door to see Lydia out on the porch last night flashed across my brain, followed by the subsequent boot print on her ass when I tossed her into the yard, much as I had done to Erica all those nights ago _._ _And, stay out!_

Um—Stiles would have stabbed me himself. Well, okay. Maybe that was a little melodramatic. I'm just saying, it's probably for the best that I decided to follow that trail to Boyd and Erica. Otherwise, who _knows_ what might have happened. What I might have witnessed. From what little the Stilinskis hinted at, it seemed that maybe Lydia's surprise visit pointed, for all intents and purposes, to _hope_ for Stiles. And I think it shocked the pants off both of them. Or, maybe just the pants off of Stiles, because—yeah, you get it.

In any case, that short lived hope must have really done a number on Stiles, because as soon as I sat at the table, it didn't take long for his hand to find its way to mine as the Sheriff continued to spout about the importance in Stiles continuing to work hard at lacrosse this summer. But don't let practicing become an excuse to skip out on studying. And, speaking of, had I started studying for finals yet? Also, I shouldn't forget to attend those meetings with Morrell. And another thing—where did I disappear to after the game last night?

It was at that moment that Stiles' hand grabbed mine from my lap in reassurance. He must have seen the way I froze, because he quickly threw out an excuse about Scott needing me to help him with Isaac after he was injured on the field last night. Fast thinker, that one. He was rewarded with a hand squeeze after that.

Basically, the rest of the morning conversation carried that same theme. Sheriff hit any and every available topic of conversation that he possibly could in order to avoid bringing up Jackson or Lydia. Actually, he must have been so confused after finding Stiles and I practically cuddling on the couch this morning. I'm sure he doesn't know quite what to think.

Now, Sheriff is dozing in the living room, and I couldn't stand sitting around in the house all day, so while Stiles went to shower, I grabbed my boots and a baseball cap off the coatrack, and now, here I am.

I chewed my lip as I walked across the grass to the lacrosse goal. The blue baseball cap smelled of Stiles as I pulled it on backwards over my hair. I patted the hat and tried to find a spot for the goal. Once I'd figured out a place to take it, I grasped the warm metal between my hands to drag it over as far as I could. It propped nicely against the side of the shed.

Then I had to move the large trail of tires Stiles had placed through the backyard—that took some time. It was as I rolled the last tire over behind the shed that Stiles finally came bounding out of the house.

"Hey, what are you doing?" He asked, as I let the tire land with a thud.

"What the hell were these for?" I panted, wiping at the sweat on my forehead with the back of my hand.

Stiles' wide eyes raked over my outfit as he puttered to a stop just off the back porch. "What did you do to my shirt?"

I looked down at the white t-shirt, which I'd actually cropped a few nights back using a pair of kitchen shears. _Not_ my best work. The ends had frayed just a bit already. "Oh, this." I self-consciously tugged at the slightly jagged hem and tugged at the hat on my head. "It's getting hot out."

"Well, I mean, I think it looks great on you, like—uh, like that. It's just that, I don't think I'll be able to pull that off anymore," Stiles shrugged, drawing a laugh out of me. "You know. My stomach's not—" He pointed between ours, "It's not tan like yours. Pasty. Would be the word that comes to mind. Like a penguin."

A laugh bubbled out of my lips and I tilted my head at him. "Well, I don't know. I wouldn't call it _pasty_."

"Oh, no, it's okay. You can say it. I know what I am." Stiles watched me as I drew closer to him, grabbing my arms when I took him by the shoulders.

"You're not _pasty_ , Stiles. Now get out of my yard. I'm trying to mow!"

He snorted as I pushed him backwards and he almost tripped over the garden hose. "Wait—" He righted himself and I bit back another laugh as he looked back at my face. "When did you see my stomach?"

"Move," I pushed him and he sputtered slightly, but didn't fight against me as I guided him back to the steps. Then I promptly turned to march across the yard.

"When—Savannah—when did you—"

I started the mower and cut him off. Persistently, Stiles continued to try and shout over the rumble of the mower, but I gestured to my ears to mime that I couldn't hear him. He started to point to his stomach, and then apparently he finally just gave up.

Stiles watched me as I guided the mower back and forth across the grass. It didn't take as long as I thought it might, and by the time I was finished, I was thankful that I'd had the foresight of trimming this shirt down and grabbing a hat. Even with it cropped, I still probably would have stripped it off entirely if Stiles wasn't sitting right there.

He looked up from his phone when I brought the mower back over, panting slightly. He squinted his eyes at me against the sun. "Who taught you how to mow?"

I looked back at the grass. Admittedly, the lines weren't exactly pristine. "Why?"

"Well, nothing. I've just never seen someone mow a maze so easily."

My eyes widened and I started to retort, but he spoke over me before I could.

"Did the girl scouts teach you that—"

I shoved him in the shoulder and he laughed as he started to tip over, but caught himself just fine.

"No one had to _teach me_ how to mow!"

Stiles raised his eyebrows at me and gaped at the yard, this time unafraid to blatantly laugh at the apparent hack job I'd done. "You don't get to mow anymore! You've lost the privilege!"

My jaw dropped and I stepped forward to push him back on the steps. " _Privilege?_ I can do whatever I want!"

"No," He shamelessly laughed, shaking his head at the yard. "You can weed the garden next time, and I'll mow."

I scoffed and turned around without a word. Although it was clear I had a purpose, I didn't offer any hints to Stiles as to what I was doing when I swiped up the garden hose.

"No!" He gasped, this time completely unamused and desperate as he held his phone in the air to avoid the sudden spray of water that hit him. I made sure to douse him until his shirt was dripping, a wide grin on my face. He spat at the water on his face and furiously wiped his eyes.

I sighed in content, a huge smile across my face as I tilted my head at him. "Yeah. That was satisfying." Then, like something out of an old western movie, I lifted the nozzle of the hose to my lips and pretended to blow away the smoke.

"Oh yeah?" He stepped forward, his arms lifted to me, and I stepped back with the hose aimed at his face like a gun.

"Don't!" I warned.

His eyebrows shot up defiantly and he took another step forward.

"No—" I put my other hand out to him. "Do you want to get—" He rushed forward and I clamped down on the handle of the house, spraying him frantically with a loud squeal. When he grabbed me, I kicked my feet as he lifted me of the ground, and the spray of water shot straight up in the air.

We realized what was about to happen a beat too late. The water arced into the sky, and for a brief moment of time, it hung there, suspended with the clouds, and we just stared at it like a couple of dazed idiots. But gravity took hold quickly, and the spray came crashing back down on us just as swiftly as it had gone up.

Stiles shielded me with his arms as much as he could, taking the brunt of the water, but it didn't really matter. Immediately, we were soaked. I gasped at the cold temperature and Stiles and I didn't move for a brief second as we tried to adjust to the sudden chill that assaulted our bodies.

I opened my eyes and the hose fell to the grass with a thud. My hands were out like I'd dropped a weapon to the ground, and when I looked at how completely sopping wet Stiles was, I burst into laughter.

He tried to keep a scowl on his face, but when I bent at the waist and my laughter only deepened, he caught some of my amusement and joined.

"Wait—wait till the Sheriff sees you—" I gasped, and he threw his hands out defensively.

"Me!? Look at you! Miss wet t-shirt contest!"

I gasped and immediately covered my chest, and Stiles burst into laughter. My cheeks grew hot and I jumped back three steps, snapping at him to shut up.

"Do you still think it's hot out?" Stiles quipped, as I dashed up the steps. Thank god I was wearing a bra, even if it is only a sports bra.

"Shut up!" I hollered, as he continued to laugh and followed hot on my heels. "Shut your mouth!"

He clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter, and shushed me as we stepped into the kitchen. "Shhh, sh sh sh!" He hissed, and we both held still to see if the Sheriff was coming. Even in that short time, Stiles began to gather a little puddle on the wooden floors as we stood in the doorway.

I could hear quiet snores coming from the living room. The television was on the news channel, quietly talking about the incident at the lacrosse game last night. I looked at Stiles and he motioned me forward. "Go, go, go," He whispered, and we quickly shuffled over to the laundry room.

Stiles' foot ran into a laundry basket by the dryer and we winced and froze as we waited to hear if Sheriff woke. When I heard him merely shift in his chair and his snoring resume, I wildly flapped my hand in the air to give Stiles the okay.

He reached into the dryer and rummaged through, picking out a dark blue t-shirt with lime bands that started at the middle and created a striped pattern to the bottom. Then he grabbed another one that was black with the Rolling Stones symbol across the front, and tossed it to me when I threw him a thumbs-up.

From the basket, Stiles grabbed out a pair of khakis. "No, no," I whispered and he frowned up at me curiously. "Not those, the grey ones."

"What?" He scrunched his nose and I hesitated, suddenly embarrassed. Who am I? His mother? Stiles looked back down at the tan khakis and then rummaged through until he found the pair I was talking about. "These?"

I opened my mouth and then just settled for nodding my head awkwardly. "Yeah, but, you know. Do whatever you want."

He shrugged a shoulder and threw the khakis down. "Okay, turn around."

"What?" It was my turn to be confused.

He twirled his finger in the air as he stood up, his shirt completely plastered to his skin and leaving little to nothing to my imagination. It made me remember to cross my arms over my chest as he told me to turn around again.

"Oh," I realized, and abruptly turned my back to him, my cheeks heating. "Right."

Mostly, it was my shirt that had gotten wet. My shorts weren't too bad. I tried to pretend not to notice when I heard a wet garment slapping the dirty laundry basket beside me, and focused on peeling my own shirt from my skin. I also actively ignored my racing heart. I don't know why I'm so nervous all of the sudden, the sheriff is sound asleep in his chair. I can hear him snoring from here. Behind me, I heard Stiles tugging his clean shirt down over his head.

In an effort to make this go as quickly as possible, I tossed the soaked wet shirt into the basket and started to flip the black one around to its hem.

Then, in the living room, Sheriff's snores sputtered. I froze with the shirt poised over my head and strained my ears. There was a beat of silence, a loud sigh, and then the lever of the chair was pulled and the footrest clamped down.

"Shit," I breathed. "Hurry!"

"What?" Stiles turned around and exclaimed a little too loudly when he saw that I was in the middle of pulling the shirt down. " _What?"_

"He's coming!" I hissed as quietly as I could, but the heavy footfalls of the Sheriff thudded across the floor of the hallway and were moving steadily towards the kitchen.

I heard the sound of a zipper as Stiles fumbled with his jeans and cursed quietly.

"What?" I whispered, almost inaudibly as I tried to block the door way without turning around. "What's wrong?"

"They won't come off! They're too wet!"

And then Sheriff was in the kitchen. I gasped and stepped back out of the doorway just as he turned his head in my direction. "Savannah?"

Stiles fell over. My hands flew to my mouth as Sheriff finally came to the laundry room and frowned upon finding me.

"What are you doing?" His frown deepened, his eyes creasing, and he looked me over. "Where's Stiles?"

I dropped my hands and tried to think of a way to play this off, stepping in front of him every time he tried to look around me. "What?"

Sheriff paused and that knowing scowl came over his face as he fixed me with a glare. "Savannah," He warned, and I stepped with him as he tried to look around me. Behind us, Stiles was making a complete mess of the situation. Things were clattering on the ground. He kept grunting, I think he might have bumped into the dryer a few _thousand_ times. "Stiles?"

I held my breath as Stiles mumbled something indecipherable. There was the sound of fabric being tousled, and then I think I finally heard him pulling one of the legs up.

"I mowed the grass," I suddenly announced.

The Sheriff's wide, suspicious expression shifted from over my head back to my face. He blinked. "What?"

"The grass." I pushed his chest forward until he started backing away, and immediately dragged him over to the window. "See?"

I grabbed him around the back of the neck and tugged him forward, forcing a whoosh to escape his lips as his stomach rammed against the counter. "T—That was nice of you," He managed, trying to glance over his shoulder. "But you didn't have to do that. I was going to this weekend."

"Nah, nonsense!" I waved him off and snatched him back when he started to back away. "Look! Over there!"

"What?" Sheriff asked, and I pointed to a vague direction in the yard.

"Do you see that?"

"See what?"

"In that corner! That's a raccoon!"

"What!?"

"Yeah! It's right there!"

"I don't see it, where?"

"Let's go look! Hurry!"

And with that, I dragged him out of the kitchen and risked a peek over my shoulder to the laundry room. Stiles was waving at me encouragingly from the doorway as I ushered his dad towards the back door. He waved his phone at me meaningfully, but I didn't have time to question it as Sheriff opened the backdoor and stepped onto the porch.

I followed out after him and a pleasantly warm breeze rolled over us.

"Where is it?" Sheriff asked, his gaze raking across the yard. He started down the steps and we both took in the completely calm, distinctly _raccoon free_ area.

"Behind the shed, I thought."

He walked out into the yard and I hung back on the steps. When he got about halfway out, he stopped and put his hands on his hips to peer at the pile of tires and the lacrosse goal I'd moved there. "Stiles," He suddenly complained. "How many times do I have to tell that kid to put the goal in the shed when he's done?"

"Yeah, sorry, actually. That was me." I rubbed the back of my neck and the Sheriff turned to look at me in surprise.

"Huh?" He frowned and looked back at the goal. "Oh. Well, you didn't know."

I smirked at how forgiving he was to me. "So what do you think?"

"Of what?"

"The grass," I gestured all around, going to stand at the edge of the steps. "Looks good, right?"

He cast a hesitant squint around, his eyes catching on all the uneven lines and sporadic levels of grass. "Uh… Yeah."

"Savannah," Stiles pushed out of the door behind me and waved his phone at me. "Scott wants us to meet him."

"Oh," I said, feigning surprise. "Right now?" I peeked back the Sheriff, who was looking at Stiles in doubt.

"Hey, dad. Good nap? Rested? You feel rested?" And before he could respond, he pointed back at me with his phone. "Yeah, right now. He's waiting."

"Hey, kids, wait a second."

We both stiffened and turned around, bracing ourselves for him to reveal that he knew everything the whole time. "Yeah?" Stiles asked, and I bit the inside of my cheek.

Sheriff still had his hands on his hips as he squinted up at us. "What do you think about pizza tonight?"

I blinked.

"That… sounds... good." Stiles side-eyed me, shifting in his place. "Do you want us to pick some up on the way home?"

Sheriff nodded thoughtfully and turned back to the yard, examining the grass. He muttered something to himself and we waited for a second longer before quickly turning to hurry to the door.

Stiles held it open for me and started in after me, when his dad called out again.

"Hey, what were you two doing in the laundry room?"

 _Shit!_

"What?" Stiles ducked his head back out to peer at his dad. "What do you mean? Laundry. We were starting a load."

His dad narrowed his eyes at us, and I hid behind Stiles. "Yeah, but Savannah seemed to want me to get out of there pretty fast. What are you two up to?"

"She saw a raccoon! They're rabid in the day, did you know that? It could have had rabies! What if it had attacked her when she was mowing? What if she fell over and accidentally sawed her foot in half? Or mowed over the raccoon?"

"I don't see any raccoon," Sheriff impatiently pointed out, gesturing all around.

"Did you check behind the shed?" I called over Stiles' shoulder, and the Sheriff visibly became frustrated.

"I'm looking right now!"

"But did you go _look_ , though?"

"I don't _need_ to go look, I'm looking right _now_ , and I'm telling you, there are no raccoons."

"Okay, so, she was wrong!" Stiles easily agreed, gesturing wildly. "There are no raccoons!"

"Don't raise your voice at me!" Sheriff warned, aiming a disapproving finger at his son.

"I'm not—I'm not yelling! I'm just saying, maybe you should go check, though."

His dad twitched and seemed ready to explode.

"Better safe than sorry." Stiles lifted his hand to wave and then started to close the door. "Oh! Uh, one last thing. When the washer is done, will you change the clothes over to the dryer for me?"

His dad muttered something noncommittal and watched his son until the door was shut. Stiles leaned against it with a sigh, grinning at me.

"That was close," He breathed.

I smacked his shoulder. "Idiot!"

"Ah—what? What did I do?"

"What, have you never worn pants in your life!?"

"They were freaking soaked!"

"They were freaking soaked," I mocked, and he rolled his eyes at me.

He grabbed my hand and suddenly stepped around me, dragging me behind him. "C'mon, let's go."

"What? Where? I was going to study for English."

Stiles turned to give me a surprised, if slightly proud look. "You can do that tonight," He said approvingly. "But I told you already; Scott is waiting for us."

"Oh, you were serious? What does he want?"

"We were gonna practice some lacrosse." He looked back at me, a smile playing at his lips. "And you could try it out, too, if you want."

"What," I snorted dismissively, pretending to be disinterested as I flapped the thought away. "Why would I do that?"

"Well, you don't have to," He shrugged, tugging me closer by my hand as we approached the door so I could go through first. "But you might like it."

I snorted again and then grew quiet as we bounded down the steps. When he started to pass me, I peeked at him warily. "You think?"

"Definitely. At least I won't look as bad when you try."

"What?" I reared back in offense. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Stiles shrugged unapologetically as we reached the jeep. "No, nothing. I'm just saying, _I've_ played before. You haven't."

I scoffed and crossed my arms. "Oh yeah?"

He pursed his lips to the side and nodded. "Look, no one is good when they first try lacrosse. Even Scott sucked the first season. He rode the bench harder than I did."

"Scott had asthma."

Stiles nodded. "Exactly!"

I rolled my eyes at him and brushed shoulders as I passed him to open the door of the jeep. "You're on."

* * *

So, funny story. I'm good at lacrosse. I thought Stiles was gonna have a fit when my ball sailed straight past his head and hit the net.

It's not that I was purposely aiming for his head. It's just that—well. Okay, fine. I was. But he totally had it coming!

Scott was unsurprised at my success with the sport. "Maybe aim a little more to the left next time," He kindly suggested, and I cracked my shoulder and took great pleasure in smirking at Stiles' incredulous expression.

"We'll see," I murmured, and Scott finally caught on that I'd done it on purpose. He smiled cautiously, watching as Stiles told me it was beginner's luck, and I told him to pipe down and keep his eye on the ball.

He snorted. "Keep my eye on the ball," He bitterly muttered. He suddenly pointed his gloved hand at me and hollered, "No wolf powers!"

I put my hands up and shrugged at him. "I'm not!"

"I'm serious!" He insisted. "You can't use them on the field!"

"Who said anything about the field?"

"Hey, _this_ is a field!" Stiles cried, gesturing violently around.

"Shut up and be a goalie!" I practically screamed, jabbing Scott's lacrosse stick at him.

"I _am!_ " He bellowed back, and Scott waved his hands between us with a nervous laugh.

"Guys! Everyone, just take a breath."

I drew in a breath and shot Scott a slightly dirty look.

He pointed at Stiles. "You, calm down." Stiles threw his hands up and Scott ignored him. "You, play fair."

My jaw dropped and he turned me back to the goal. I smirked at Stiles and felt my stomach flutter when he pointed at me in what was supposed to be a threat, and for some reason, I felt inexplicably thrilled as I twirled the lacrosse stick in my hands and Scott set the ball in front of me. Stiles bent over and bounced between his heels, watching my every move.

I scooped the ball up and brought the stick over my shoulder, and he watched as I adjusted my grip. Where to shoot the ball… To the left corner? The right?

Feeling fancy, I did that whole 'fake left but shoot right' move. Stiles saw it coming from a mile away. I'm beginning to think he might know me too well, and when he caught the ball, I tried not to react as he cheered tauntingly.

He thrust his lacrosse stick over his head and cheered loudly. "Yeah!" He laughed, and I rolled my eyes at him. "In your _face!"_

I looked at Scott. "I gave him an easy one," I lowly muttered, and Scott smirked but shook his head.

"Don't tell him that."

"What?" Stiles called, shifting feet as he tried to catch what we were saying. "What'd she say? Did she say she gave me that one?"

"Nope," Scott dismissed, going to retrieve another ball from his bag.

"She did, didn't she?" Stiles aimed his lacrosse stick at me and shook it. "No! Don't do that! I _hate_ that. Don't let me win!"

"Oh, don't let you win?" I teased, raising my eyebrows.

He nodded his head and twirled his lacrosse stick, crouching back down as Scott set the ball in front of me. "Yeah, that's what I said. Don't let me win, but don't cheat! Just _play_ the game."

I smirked at him and shrugged my shoulder. "If you say so." And with that, I threw the ball.

* * *

We played for a few hours. It was actually the most prolonged exposure I'd had to Scott. And quite possibly the _only_ exposure I'd had that didn't involve plotting something, or carrying _out_ said plot. He was a lot more funny than I realized. He made those unexpected jokes. Like, he's so nice, you don't expect him to say mean things. But he does, and when it happens you can tell it's all in jest, but it catches me off guard every time. So I laugh.

Honestly, when I play against Stiles for real, he does a pretty good job. Most of the time I am able to get the ball past him. But when he's shooting, and _I'm_ in goal? I can see how he scored all those points at the championship game. He genuinely got more than his fair share past me. More than I care to admit, actually.

Of course, the most challenging part of the afternoon is when I would face off with Scott. We didn't feel the need to lay ground rules about wolf powers. We both definitely used them. And that was okay, because no one really expected otherwise, I think. Honestly? He kicked my ass from one end the field to the other.

It was a really good workout, though, and by the end of it, I was panting pretty heavily. We'd stopped off at a pizza joint that Scott loves. It's not Mario's place, but it's pretty good. I think it's called Jerry's or something like that. The breadsticks are kinda shitty, though.

When Stiles got up to use the restroom, an inevitably awkward silence followed his absence. I brought my sprite up to sip at it busily. Scott looked over one of the placement menus that displayed their specialty desserts. He pointed out one that involved apples and ice cream. I think it might have been a pie, or a tart or something.

I took a long sip, the drink making that noise that happens when it's empty. I sighed and set the cup down, and Scott drummed his fingers on the table top.

"So," I started, and then I hesitated.

Scott raised his eyebrows at me. "What's up?"

"Uh," I looked down and shook my head. "No, you know what? It's nothing. Forget it."

"No, it's okay. What is it?"

I sighed and held onto my cup for a moment longer before finally pushing it away to focus on his face intently. He sat with his elbows resting on the table, his large arms lying across themselves. "Gerard said something to me."

Scott waited for me to elaborate, and when I simply fixed him with a probing stare, he shook his head and shrugged. "Okay... well, what did he say?"

"He said... He said that the only reason you wanted me in your pack was to use me as—you know. A _spy_ for you from Derek's pack."

Scott frowned and immediately shook his head. "Savannah, no. It wasn't even _my_ idea to use you like that! That was your idea."

"Yeah," I sighed, and shook my head. "I don't know. It was stupid to ask. I knew Gerard had to be lying. It's just..."

Surprisingly, Scott seemed to understand. He didn't smile, but he didn't look angry or offended at all as he kindly nodded at me. "I know that Derek can be mistrusting, and he lies. A _lot_. Or at least, he goes back on his word. And he picks and chooses what to tell us. And sometimes—or, let's be honest. _Most_ of the time it can be hard to trust him. But I'm not Derek."

I looked over his earnest face and smiled humorlessly. "Am I that transparent?"

Scott shook his head. "No, I just know exactly how you feel about him. I've _been_ there. I get it."

I sighed and grabbed my straw to stir the ice in my cup. "Yeah. Thanks, Scott. That's been bugging me."

"Gerard has a... an ability to work his way in your head." The corner of his mouth drew up ruefully, and he shrugged a shoulder. "He's just a manipulator."

I raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Yeah, he was. Do you know what happened to him?"

Scott's face grew troubled, and he slouched slightly and seemed to close in on his own thoughts. "No. I mean, he got away, obviously. But he can't be alive. You saw—" He looked up at me and the image of all that black shit spewing out of Gerard's _everything_ flashed across my mind. "He's probably dead by now. He has to be."

"He probably crawled off to die in some hole somewhere," I darkly mused, stirring my ice. "Like a wounded animal."

"Who?" Stiles asked, appearing over my shoulder.

"Gerard," I explained, and slid over to allow him to sit back beside me.

"Oh, nice." Stiles grabbed his drink and sipped at it, but his was empty too. He hummed at it unhappily. "You guys ready to go?" He looked between us and Scott nodded.

I don't know where Gerard disappeared to. All I know is, wherever he is... I hope he's miserable.

* * *

 _ **HOLY, SHIT! You guys! Your responses have been so kind! And I'm so happy that so many guest reviewers are reaching out :) Some of you are calling Savannah your spirit animal, and Stavannah your OTP, and I just - *Ugly cries* THANK YOU SO MUCH, UH HUH HUH HUHH...**_

 _ **This chapter felt a little filler-y. The thing is, for these next several chapters, they're all going to be like that. Because it's filling the space between seasons 2 and 3. Don't get me wrong, I think it's completely necessary to include it in order to develop relationships before season 3 starts, it's just... different. I have to come up with all this stuff on my own, here. It's totally from my mind. So let me know how it went, okay?**_

 _ **I did use this chapter to sort of start addressing things that Teen Wolf simply neglects. It's a show, so I get it - there are only so many minutes to an episode. But things like: Who explained to the sheriff that Jackson is alive? Did I miss that entirely, or? Because I think he would wanna know that shit. Also, I added in that part where the news covers the events that happened at lacrosse. I'll probably mention the principal's return to school. Everyone noticing that the Argents have just up and left town. Rumor mills churning. Did Jackson continue to attend school before he left? Or nah? I also noticed that Jeff Davis said there were about FOUR MONTHS between seasons 2 and 3. I don't know about you guys, but my summer breaks in school lasted about 2 months. NOT four. Which means there are about 2 months of classes to go. So... I have a lot of wiggle room here. I guess, while I'm at it, I'll take requests? Anything in particular you want to see these crazy kids get up to this summer? Or perhaps at school before it's out?**_

 _ **I borrowed some cues from you guys. Some reviewers were saying they were excited to read about the summer because it's cold out, and I know I love to read about warmer climates when I'm smack in the middle of winter! So there you go! Mowing grass. Warm breezes. Bumblebees, and playing with the water hose! Amirite? Summer in a nutshell. The only thing that's missing was ice cream, and I mentioned that!**_ _ **In fact, following that theme, I'd really recommend listening to that song I mentioned earlier. It just sounds like spring time to me.**_

 _ **Pardon the long note. I just had a lot of things to say this time. :)**_

 ** _ANYWAYS, thank you for the support! OH, and we reached 300 reviews! *Happy tears, incoherent babbling* I'M SO HAPPY I COULD DIE_**


	51. Starting Off With A Bomb

_**Still trying to find my footing with these chapters, guys. This one picks up the same day we left on, except it's at night. But most of the other chapters are gonna have some time jumps after this.**_

 _ **I researched lacrosse schedules a bit to try and get a feel of the timeline that the show would follow based on that, as well as dates of the full moon in 2012. I actually confused myself because the dates sort of conflicted with how the timeline in the show went, but you know what? Whatever. It doesn't even matter. We're going to pretend that the championship game happened on around the beginning of April. Then we'll go into May for finals, and then June for the first month of summer, and then July will finish up the summer, and August will start out the third season. Okay? Okay.**_

* * *

MONTH ONE – April

Homework is annoying. I mean that with every fiber of my being. The temptation to just put it off and let myself veg out on the couch in the living room with the Sheriff was nearly impossible to ignore, but he kept that hawk-gaze on me until I opened my books with a heavy sigh.

What's perhaps more troubling than homework, however, is my newfound fear of disappointing the Sheriff. I mean, where the hell did _that_ come from? I can remember the days when he was nothing more than a suit to me. When he represented everything that had forsaken me, and I resented him and thought I was smart enough to play with him using noncommittal remarks and vague responses.

Now he represents hope. In a strange way, Sheriff is the force that pushes me along. If I feel like stopping—if I feel like just letting my progress slide even an _inch_ , he's right there behind me to fix me with that glare. I'm trying not to be annoyed by it, but it's hard sometimes. Still, I know he's got my best interests at heart. I'm still a work in progress, after all. Just this evening I had to donate a healthy ten-dollar bill to the Asshole Jar (our college fund, as Sheriff so lovingly refers to it. Stiles insists it's money down towards repairs for the ever deteriorating jeep. Crashing through a factory door and hitting the kanima really put a dent in it. Metaphorically, not literally; _nothing_ will dent that thing. But let's just say it's suffering from some internal bleeding, so to speak. Stiles told his dad he hit a deer. I have it pegged for a new phone. It's unclear as to who will claim the money, or whether it will be divvied up evenly. In my argument, most of that cash belongs to me anyways. Literally.) Don't ask what the ten dollars is for. I'm actually a little embarrassed for saying it, in hindsight. It was pretty uncalled for. As I said: Work in progress.

So there I sat, cross-legged on the couch, books in lap, journal on table. I scribbled a few entries into the journal before I began my homework. It's a little over halfway filled at this point.

Sheriff laughed at something on the screen and I tried my best not to let it distract me. Stiles had the right idea when he went to his room to study. I was thinking maybe I should join him, when there was a knock at the front door.

I looked at Sheriff. He had craned his neck around to look at the door, his brows furrowed, and when he looked back to me we shared a confused look. It's ten at night, and tomorrow's Monday. Who could possibly be visiting?

"It's probably Scott," Sheriff tried. But we both knew that either Stiles would have welcomed him in, or Scott would have just entered. He doesn't need to knock. Another series of thuds came, this time more urgent.

I didn't respond as I pushed the books out of my lap and went to answer the door. Standing on the porch, seeming totally flustered, Brooke's fist was raised to knock again.

"Savannah!" She exclaimed, latching onto the black fabric of my t-shirt and dragging me out of the doorway. "Oh, my god!"

"What—Brooke? What are you doing here?" As she pushed me out onto porch and immediately began to pace in front of me, I frowned over the top of her head into the open doorway. I pushed her out of my way to go shut the door behind me, giving Sheriff a dismissive wave when I saw his head poked over the top of his chair.

"I am _freaking_ out," She cried, twisting her hand into her surprisingly tangled hair. Her clothes were the usual bright colors you'd expect, but she still seemed about to burst at the seams as she trekked back and forth.

"I can see that." I went to lean against a post on the porch and crossed my arms at her. "What's going—"

"I _tried_ to tell Danny, but he just told me that I was being crazy and not to bother him with this crap! He doesn't _understand!_ He didn't see them!"

"Who?" I asked, but she was on it now, and she didn't even seem to hear me.

"They had glowing eyes! Red, glowing eyes, and they ran so _fast!_ I've never seen anything run that fast!"

Immediately, I pushed off the post in shock and tried to gain control over my reaction. How do people normally react to this? A laugh? I tried to force one out, but it came more as a strangled grunt than anything. Brooke fixed her crazed gaze on me and seemed to hold her breath for a moment.

"You believe me." I opened my mouth and she rushed forward to grab my arms. "Have you seen them?"

"Seen _who_ , Brooke? What are you _talking_ about?"

" _In the woods!_ " She cried, her face frantic and almost manic. "I was with the search party I told you about! Thanks for telling me that Stiles was _found_ , by the way," She bitterly interjected, but then quickly moved back on topic before I even had the chance to blink. "We decided to split into groups of two so we could cover more ground. Kyle wanted us to all go solo, but I _told_ him we needed the buddy system. But then he ditched me to go search with _Carly Manello_ , and I was trying to find my way back to the cars when these—these _people_ came out of nowhere!"

I shook my head at her and brushed her hands off to take her by the shoulders, forcing my gaze to lock with hers as I spoke slowly and purposely. "You're not making any sense, Brooke." I nodded as she popped her mouth open to protest, but I continued before she could interrupt. "You need to _slow_ _down_."

"Aren't you listening?" She paused, and in a sudden spurt of perfect clarity, she said, "I saw demons in the woods tonight."

I gawked at her, mouth agape, mind completely blank. "D-Demons?"

She nodded solemnly, her voice low and shaking in terror. "Yes, it was—"

The door opened and Stiles stepped out. "Hey, Savannah—" He broke off and took in the scene before him. Brooke, looking positively terrified as she held me in a death grip. Me, stunned and speechless. "What's going on?"

Brooke looked back at me. "You believe me, right?" She looked desperate, pleading almost, as her wide eyes stared at me.

I closed my mouth and took a breath. A beat passed, and I removed her hands from my arms as I said, "Stiles, we should take this to your room."

He looked between us with a cautious expression. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, we just need to go. Come on."

When we passed the Sheriff, he seemed surprised to see Brooke. They knew each other, and Stiles and I didn't give him long to greet her here before we dragged her into his room and shut the door.

I guided her over to a seat and told her to start from the beginning. As she repeated everything she said to me, albeit less panicked and more disturbed, Stiles took it in with a carefully masked expression. Every now and then his eyes would flit to me. I bounced my knee until she got to the part where she thinks they're demons.

"Demons?" Stiles repeated, much like I had done. Brooke nodded and Stiles looked to me in question. Then, flatter, "She saw demons?"

"With glowing red eyes," I meaningfully clarified. Stiles straightened in understanding and Brooke seemed want to collapse in relief.

"You guys! I _knew_ you guys would believe me!" She seemed moments from breaking into hysterical tears, wiping at her face as if she was already crying. "Danny told me that I was overreacting. He kept saying I was just tired from searching, or I saw it wrong, but I _knew_."

"Maybe we should call Scott," Stiles hesitantly suggested, his dark eyes trained on me. Brooke crumpled in confusion.

"Scott?" She asked, frowning at me. "Why would we call him?"

"I just think he might be interested to hear this," Stiles tried to subtly twist his words with a double meaning, but Brooke took it the wrong way. She grew rigid and abruptly stood from his bed where I'd deposited her.

"Don't mock me." She seemed angry as she started towards the door and I blocked her path and shook my head.

"No, he's not trying to mock you. No one's calling Scott."

"We're not?" Stiles asked, and I shook my head and shot him a dirty look.

" _No_. We don't need him for this. Brooke, you told Danny about what you saw?"

She seemed to relax as Stiles hesitantly backed down and I guided her back to the bed.

"I think he's just really upset over what happened to Jackson." She shook her head sadly. "He could barely stand to listen to me. It's like he was just so _angry_ …"

I sighed sorrowfully and patted her shoulder. "Look, I'm not saying you didn't see anything in the woods." Brooke grew rigid again at my words, and I hurried to clarify. "But I wasn't there! I didn't see what you saw, I just… maybe you should try to keep this to yourself, you know?"

She scrunched her face and seemed to want to argue, but was visibly conflicted as she glanced between Stiles and I. "You guys don't want me to tell anyone else?"

"Well, who are you going to tell?" Stiles reasonably asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Who would believe you?"

"You guys do," She desperately said, looking from my face to his with waning hope. "You _do_. Don't you? Why do I need to tell anyone else?"

"You don't." I paused and sighed heavily, trying to think of how to deter her from pursuing this, while also making her feel like she can trust us to come with whatever she else she might think of, or find.

"Look, I _know_ this sounds crazy." Brooke looked at Stiles and I with tearful eyes, her lower lip trembling. "I feel like I'm going out of my _mind_ here. But I know what I saw."

I felt at a loss. We can't tell her about the supernatural. But I can't dispel her theory on demons without doing so, and the last thing I want to do is call her crazy, especially since she's partly right. I think both of us could sympathize with how she felt. We've been there. But it's important to try and downplay this as much as possible.

She looked down at her lap, playing with her rings despondently. "Or maybe I don't. Danny might be right, I could have just hallucinated. It just…" She closed her eyes and sighed quietly. "It _felt_ so real. I could see them. Four of them, at least. Running through the tree line. At first I thought it was some of my search party. I thought maybe they'd found something. But then one of them turned and looked dead at me, and I can't—I can't stop _picturing_ it. "

"Brooke, I…." She looked at me and I shook my head, helpless. "I don't know what to say."

She sighed heavily, her voice thick with unshed tears as she brushed at her face again and seemed to compose herself. "Just forget it." She stood up and moved across the room, towards the door. Stiles, who had been remarkably quiet, watched from his desk as she turned back to us at the door. "Sorry for bothering you. I think I'm going to… I need to go pray. It helps me clear my head."

It seemed like a strange urge to me, but for someone of faith who felt they just saw _demons_ running through the woods, it admittedly made sense for her to react that way. Before Stiles or I could form a response, she opened the door, and then she was gone. We sat in silence for a few minutes, and I listened as she muttered a quick goodbye to the Sheriff. The front door closed, and Stiles and I stared at each other, speechless.

What the hell just happened?

Sheriff knocked at the door, peeking his head in. "She left in a rush," He noted, carefully taking our expressions in. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Stiles breathed, shaking his head dismissively. "She just had some—pretty shocking news."

"So you heard, then." Sheriff put his hands in his pockets as Stiles and I exchanged a cautious glance. Great. Now what?

"Heard… what?" Stiles slowly asked, and his dad seemed uncharacteristically somber as he broke the news that Jackson was alive.

"What?" I asked, my voice higher than usual. Sheriff didn't realize that I reacted this way because _someone_ had finally told him about this. Not because of the news itself. "Who told you?"

"The station. They called—I need to go in to take care of a few things, but… But this is…" He shook his head and frowned down at his shoes, apparently mystified. "Good," He seemed to recall the appropriate response. "This is good news."

Stiles and I remained quiet as we continually exchanged periodic glances, waiting for his dad to say something more. Sheriff read our silence as our processing the news, and he forced an insincere smile onto his face.

"Hey, don't forget tomorrow is Monday. That means class, for both of you." He tried to sound stern, but it lacked its usual edge as he stood there almost slouched. "Just… try to keep your distance from that whole situation, okay?"

The request surprised me. Apparently, it did Stiles, too.

"Well, what do you mean?" Stiles' hand lifted briefly from its resting spot against his desk to punctuate his question.

"You three don't have the best track record with Jackson," He reminded us, referencing the restraining order. "But he's been through too much. I don't want to hear about you guys kidnapping him again, are we clear?"

I raised an eyebrow and Stiles glanced at me in bewilderment. He shrugged. "I mean… I don't have any future plans to kidnap him. Do you?"

"No, no, not that I can recall…" I trailed off, looking back to the Sheriff, who seemed to hesitate before he finally turned to leave. As soon as he closed the door, I whipped my head back to Stiles and exclaimed, " _What the fuck!"_

"What are you gonna do!?" Stiles stood from the desk and I stood from the bed.

"I don't know!" I said in an equally anxious tone. "What if she finds out!?"

"She can't!" Stiles said, and cut his hand through the air as he shook his head. "Just, whenever she brings it up to you, you _have_ to play it off like it's nothing."

"Yeah," I agreed, shaking my head absently. "Yeah, you're right. God. How did this happen?"

"I don't know," Stiles looked down and seemed lost in thought. "Who do you think she saw?"

I raised an eyebrow and shrugged at him, at a loss. "It seems like… I mean… if it had been Boyd or Erica, she would have recognized them."

"Well then thank God it wasn't! How would they have explained that?"

"I don't know—crap…" I sighed and ran a hand over my hair. "Hold on…" I put my finger up and considered something, and Stiles watched intently. "Yeah... Yep. Yep. I won't be getting any sleep tonight."

He sighed in relief and collapsed in his chair. "God, I thought you were about to drop another bomb on me."

I laughed and fell back on his bed with a bounce. "What are we gonna do?"

* * *

 _ **This is really short, I know. But I just spent about an hour and a half this morning drawing up an outline for the plot of the summer. The good news is, I finally feel like this isn't gonna be super aimless and filler-y! The bad news is, I'm still not quite sure how to structure the chapters. I think I'm just gonna play it by ear. I'm not going to push myself to meet my typical four to seven thousand word quota, so brace yourself for that. Instead, I'll just hit on all the important things that are supposed to happen, and however long that chapter ends up being is what it will be. Some of them will probably be pretty brief, like this one, and others might be pretty long. Sound good?**_

 _ **If this sounds like something that might bother you for some reason, feel free to express why in a review. But basically this summer is going to fill out to around ten chapters or possibly a little more, in all. That includes four separate months' worth of pretty important events. I know there's a chance you might have been expecting a briefer fill, maybe closer to three or four long-ish chapters at the most, but I'm gonna be honest. I'm super excited for these chapters, you guys. Like, I'm nervous. And giddy. It's all happening. You're going to love it. I promise it won't be boring. It's gonna have tension and angst and happiness and fluff, and it's gonna be great. Trust me, you'll see! :)**_


	52. TheSlashSlingingSashWringingTrashSinging

_**And another chapter! I'm on a roll :D**_

* * *

Hiding from someone who can't take a hint is _really_ hard. Even when I pulled out all the stops, Brooke found her way to me. She clung to me like a life raft. I'm apparently the only one she told about her experience that didn't either immediately laugh or imply she was overreacting. Now, I juggle Stiles and Brooke, who have started to compete for my attention.

In the week since she showed up to our house and told us she'd seen the mysterious group of people with red glowing eyes, she would find me at school to babble about different details she remembered. The first day back to school she was waiting for me in the entrance. Stiles and I were discussing how strange the Sheriff had been acting, but our conversation was cut short when Brooke popped up and shoved a coffee in my face.

"I found a website," She'd said, shoving a paper bag into Stiles' hand with a fleeting greeting as she dragged me away. I'd stuttered a bit, in the midst of finishing a sentence meant for Stiles. I glanced at him over my shoulder as she tugged me down the hall, half listening to her, half mouthing an apology to Stiles for the abrupt exit. He held his hand out to me to wave and sighed, dropping his arm. "I looked around online all night when I got home."

"I thought you were going to pray," I said, glancing at her and trying to duck out from under her arm.

She merely readjusted her grip and pulled a bagel out of her purse like some kind of Marry Poppins wannabe. Casually, she passed it to my hand and said, "Well, I did. For about twenty minutes, until I thought my brain was going to explode. Then I started researching. Praying clears my mind," She said, lifting her arm from my shoulders to grab a pair of sunglasses as we stepped outside to cross to an adjoining building. "Researching focuses it."

"Oh." I frowned, nodding at Scott as he passed us. Brooke sputtered in her rant, her eyes fluttering when Scott flashed his dimples at her and waved.

"And—" She blinked and shook her head. "And then I found this blog about a person from Fresno who's dealt with demons before. There were pages and pages of his research to comb through. I barely scratched the surface before it was time to leave. I almost didn't come to school today!"

Then she proceeded to talk my ear off about the many different aspects that this man listed about demons. Symptoms, experiences, testimony. She seemed pretty preoccupied with the whole thing. Almost like a dog with a bone.

I managed to narrowly escape her, but only barely. Apparently some member of one of the thousands of clubs she's apart of needed to grab her for something. It was strange; as soon as she gave the girl her attention, she shifted back into the Brooke I'd come to know over the previous weeks. She rocked on her heels as she listened to her, made a shockingly accurate joke about politics in the school systems, and then she was dancing steps around the girl as she suddenly came up with a solution. So I took the opportunity to make a quick get away, and I managed to duck her for pretty much the rest of the day.

The first few days were a bit of an adjustment. Not just for me, but for the school as a whole. The general student body was reeling from the dramatic events that happened over the weekend. To them, first of all, we won the lacrosse championship. _Again_. Second of all, it was all thanks to _Stiles Stilinski_. I think he was becoming more and more offended at the surprise that people seemed to have when they found out he basically carried the team to victory.

Even more shocking, whispers were churning around that Jackson had been seen taking the trash out at his house on Sunday, as if it was any other Sunday. As if he hadn't just been found bloodied and presumed dead at the lacrosse game the night before. Somehow, this revelation only seemed to reinforce that ridiculous steroid and drug cocktail theory. But Jackson hadn't appeared back at school yet.

Between me and the boys, it was anyone's guess as to whether he'd return or not. Scott seemed to doubt that he would. Stiles, ever cynical, claimed he was just _waiting_ for Jackson to park his shiny Porsche in his newly claimed parking spot one morning and then climb right back on his throne like nothing happened.

Personally, I was hesitant to give an opinion on the matter. Seeing the way that Jackson and Lydia cared for each other—witnessing that rare glimpse of raw humanity from the both of them, it… really made me question some things. I could see the point that Scott made. But then, I could see the point that Stiles had, too. If it were me, I have no idea what I'd do. Return to the school and put that brave mask on, middle fingers in the air? Or just start over fresh somewhere new? In the past, I'd chosen a third option. When tragedy struck me, I stayed right where I was, but I erased everything that made me… _me_. I pumped myself full of drugs until I was someone completely new. Someone who could live with what had happened to her. Now? Now… It was a hard question for me. I didn't like to dwell on it, because I felt like whichever decision I landed on said too much about my quickly evolving character. And I'm not quite ready to face that yet.

And then there was the matter of our principal. He came back Tuesday. Monday, we went without any principal, and no one noticed a thing. But the minute that Principal Thomas was back with his bossy British accent, everyone sat up and paid attention. He ordered that the vast majority of the cameras that had been installed should be removed, ' _immediately_.' There were so many, it was absurd. We apparently had cameras even in the janitor's closets, basement, and boiler rooms, which, according to Principal Thomas, was nothing but a waste of money. Money that would be better spent towards the library repairs, for example. Students wanted to know what happened to Principal Argent. Where did he go? And furthermore, has anyone seen Allison? She's been missing most of her classes, too. What's up with the Argents?

Scott handled the rumors well. And by that, I mean, he ignored them. Now that the looming threat of the kanima wasn't dangling over our heads like a guillotine, it took a hot minute for my little group to acclimate to the changes of every day life. We picked up a routine of eating lunch together, attending classes, studying, and practicing lacrosse at every given opportunity.

And then there's Stiles and I. Our interactions have shifted since the last time we were in school. Before, there wasn't much time to go to each other's lockers, which is a thing that we do now. But it's not in that typical overtly PDA sort of way, it's more like we're having a really intense discussion about something and neither of us are ready to drop it yet, so we just go to our lockers instead of stopping. Then there's the walk to class. Sometimes I'll walk with him to his, sometimes he'll walk me. It depends on how out of the way it is, though. Other times, we'll go most of the day without seeing each other. Whether that's because Stiles was distracted by Scott, or because I was distracted by Brooke, or simply because our class ran over. We didn't force anything, but we didn't fight it anymore, either.

Typically, I deal with my feelings about him in a strict _don't think, just eat_ diet. But if I were to be honest with myself, I'd have to admit that I'm afraid things will snap back to the way they were. That someday, and someday soon, he's going to stop reaching for my hand. He's going to stop casually dropping these unintentionally flustering remarks my way. But I'm even _more_ terrified of vocalizing anything to him.

I can't articulate why, but I have this strong feeling that vocalizing any of this would somehow destroy it, like trying to cage a thought or grasp a cloud. That, in some form or another, he would reject the feeling. My greatest fear is that he would tell me that he's just leaning on me. That it isn't about what he feels for _me_ , but what he's trying _not_ to feel for Lydia. And of course, I would accept that. I _expect_ that. And then I would seal it all off somewhere with no oxygen to die.

It's easier if I don't think about it. For however short a time this lasts, I will enjoy it. With every fiber of my being, I will soak it up like the pathetic starved-for-affection monster that I am.

That change in behavior I mentioned earlier, concerning the Sheriff? It didn't last long. It just stood out to Stiles and I because it was a direct result of Sheriff learning that Jackson was alive. I think he was shaken because it had affected him so directly. He'd been forced to pretend that he could handle wearing the Sheriff's badge at the same moment his son was MIA and a teenager was found dead on the field. Then—Stiles turned up, bruised, but in one piece. And then the very next night, he finds out that Jackson hadn't died after all? Somehow, the paramedics and hospital had been totally wrong? Yeah. I can imagine how that would alter someone's behavior for a few days.

But he was still the Sheriff. He was still in charge of keeping the town safe. So when he came home at night where he didn't have to pretend to think about something else, he was a little withdrawn. Consumed with his own thoughts. Grappling with his own questions. He must have been so confused. I felt bad, but what could we do? Stiles and I were reluctant to say much of anything, because it seemed like something that he had to work through on his own. Nothing we could say would help him. We distracted him when we could, putting on a marathon of terrible movies from the 80s one night, and surprising him with his favorite dinner another.

Then a new case came in, and Sheriff compartmentalized that shit like nothing I'd ever seen. He buried it down deep, and when I asked Stiles about it, he'd simply said that's what he does.

So that's done and over with now. Sheriff knows Jackson is alive. He doesn't know why, or how, but he has another case to worry about. Another dead person, maybe. Or some other equally horrific crime that demands his full attention.

Another day, I tried entering the school from a different set of doors to trip up Brooke. And that worked pretty well, until Brooke found me at lunch and dragged me off to tell me she'd shifted her focus from demons. Why, you ask? Because as detailed as the information she found online was, nowhere in any of it was there the first mention of glowing red eyes.

So it had to be ruled out. Thus, she delved into new research. Once she made me swear not to laugh at her or tell anyone, she revealed that she was following new leads. Leads of… _other_ things.

For half a day, she was an expert on alternate dimensions. I was forced to take a crash course in quantum mechanics in the span of a thirty-minute lunch period. She thought maybe the _Beings_ —as she had come to call them—had somehow fallen into our dimension for a very brief period. I wanted to laugh at her, really, I did. But then she had all these scientific effects that she used to justify it. And all this from a staunch Catholic. It's not easy to laugh when someone's nonsense starts making more sense than the truth.

I'm telling you, this girl can convince you of anything. As she explained, I interrupted to dryly say she should go into politics. She didn't appreciate that joke because that would imply that she should follow her mother's footsteps. _That_ is something she would rather not do.

But then, just as quickly as she had focused on that theory, she came to me with a new one. _Aliens_. Fed up, I smartly commented that _maybe_ it was the Hash Slinging Slasher from Spongebob. And for the rest of the day, she dropped it.

That was on Wednesday. On Thursday morning, she found me sneaking in through the gym and started telling me about legends from tribes in the farthest, most isolated corners of Africa. Myths, according to many. But to a few… A horrible story told to them by their grandparents. A sinister omen, to see someone with red glowing eyes. A death omen. If you see someone with red glowing eyes at night, they said, death will surely follow.

I reassured her that she wasn't going to _die_ , at least not by any red glowing eyes. She protested that the legend never _said_ the red eyes would be her death. Only that death follows them. She didn't like that theory because it didn't say anything definite about the owners of the eyes. Also, there were four people with glowing eyes. Does that mean she's four times as likely to die? How's that saying go, she asked. Death comes in four?

That theory gave me the creeps. I couldn't get away from it fast enough. When I left her, I escaped to the library. It wasn't closed off, but the damage that Jackson had left was evident. There were holes in the ceiling. Most of the plaster had been cleaned, but it wasn't really easy to sweep dust out of every single book. Not to mention the new shelves. Most of the other ones broke, so they had been reinforced. Apparently there's a tradition that the seniors sign some of them upon their graduating year (a rite of passage, I guess), so they didn't want to just replace the shelves and destroy all that history.

I guess the Argents made sure that there were a few extra pennies spent to carry that tradition on before they left. You know those Argents; they're heavy believers in tradition.

And in addition to the repaired shelves, most of the books were already back. The windows that had been shattered were sealed over with plastic. Probably, it was cheaper to use plastic and tape than to get boards fitted for them. And I'm sure they plan to have the windows replaced soon, anyways.

I made my way through the library and noticed that in addition to the missing tiles, there were also several missing lights. It made for a pretty dim reading environment, which sort of defeats the purpose of a library if you think about it. But there were little desk lamps that had been provided at each one of the tables, so for the humans, they still have that.

Luckily, I don't need a ton of light to read. So I ventured towards the repaired shelves. There, I found Scott browsing the stacks.

His back was turned to me. In his hands, a book that he leafed through. I tiptoed behind him until I was close enough to look over his shoulder. "Boo," I whispered, making sure to let my breath brush his neck for maximum impact.

He jerked away like something was attacking him, swiping at his neck as he swung the book out in my general direction. I narrowly dodged it, a mischievous snicker coming from my lips.

"Don't _do_ that!" He clamped his book shut and hid it from my view. "What do you want?"

I raised my eyebrows at how suspiciously defensive he was. "Someone's on edge." I tilted my head at him. "Is that Fifty Shades of Grey?"

"What?" Scott's face flamed red and he reflexively lifted the book to peer at the cover. "No! This is—it's for a class."

"Then why are you hiding it like it's a porn mag," I teased, trying to snatch it from his grasp. He kept me at arms length, tucking the book behind his back.

"Would you lower your voice," He hissed, glancing around at the people who peeked over in blatant judgment from their tables. "We're in a _library_."

"What's the matter?" I loudly badgered. "Are you afraid someone will find out that you sneak away from lunch to stroke one—"

" _Shhhhh!"_ His hand clamped over my mouth and he pushed me back farther into the stacks, looking over his shoulder frantically. Finally, he shoved the book into my stomach and I clutched it as I snickered deviously. "There, see? Are you happy?"

Stepping away from him, I lifted the book up and glanced over its cover. It was a picture of a lone wolf, howling at the moon, with some cheesy title that was a borderline pun to werewolf romance _._ My eyes widened and I looked at him without moving my head. "Oh my god," I murmured in horror. "I think I'd rather it be a Penthouse."

He sighed and snatched it from my hands. His jaw was clenched as he randomly shoved the book back on the shelf, avoiding my gaze.

I frowned slightly. "Scott…" And then, knowingly, sympathetically, I shook my head as I asked, "What are you doing?"

He sighed and hung his head. "People won't stop talking about her."

I looked him over, taking in just how miserable he actually seemed. Scott stood with his arm still braced against the bookshelf, his body turned away from me as he almost seemed to hide in shame. "Allison?"

"It wasn't about romance, you know. The book. It was mostly about—"

"Scott," I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "I don't wanna know."

He lifted his head to side-eye me.

"It doesn't matter," I said, shaking my head again. "What those people are saying about her? It doesn't matter."

He finally pushed off the bookshelf and sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I know, I know that. It's just… I knew it was going to be hard. I just didn't realize it was going to be _this_ hard."

"She's an idiot." I shrugged, matter-of-factly. "You're Beacon Hills' most eligible bachelor, Scott. I know of one girl who practically faints every time you look in her direction."

He blinked at me, confused, and then his face smoothed as he realized who I was talking about. "Brooke?" I raised my eyebrows pointedly and he suddenly squinted an eye in confusion. "Yeah, _what_ is that about?"

"She digs you, dude." I shrugged a shoulder. "Allison isn't the only female on this earth, you know?"

Scott looked like he wanted to say that she was the only one who mattered, or something flowery like that, but he simply nodded his head. "It's just hard," He said, again.

"Well," I reached out and clapped his shoulder. "Buck up."

He snorted, suddenly fixing me with a critical sweep of his gaze. "You don't usually give pep talks, do you?"

"No, no not usually," I quickly shook my head and smirked as Scott chuckled and let out a labored sigh. "Pep isn't in my arsenal. You'll be fine. Stiles won't let you mope around for too long, anyways. And if I have to, I'll do this all over again," I said, twirling my finger between us. "I'm not afraid to check someone through public humiliation. It's my specialty."

Scott vehemently shook his head. "Never again," He said. "You'll _never_ have to do that again."

I smirked and shrugged a shoulder. "We'll see." A beat paused, and when Scott seemed ready to turn away, I called out to him again. He turned back to look at me questioningly. "Speaking of Brooke… I know Stiles probably filled you in a little on what happened, right?"

Scott raised arched an eyebrow. "He complained that Brooke keeps stealing you away."

I blinked dumbly. "What?"

Scott immediately smirked, crossing his arms with gross satisfaction when he figured out how to embarrass me. "Yeah, he went on and on about how Brooke keeps giving him bagels and scones like they can somehow distract the fact that she's stealing you away."

"Oh, good," I dryly quipped, even though my burning face was a dead giveaway. "I rate higher than breakfast pastries."

"You rate higher than videogames," Scott teased, and before I could ask, he explained. "I asked him to come over to play videogames with me twice this week, and he said no both times. Once because you guys had a movie marathon he promised he'd be there for. Another because it was takeout night, and that's his favorite food."

I frowned at him. "No it's not. It's Hawaiian pizza." _Like mine._

"I know," Scott grinned, his dimples winking snidely at me.

I cleared my throat loudly and shifted in my boots, rubbing at my nose as I looked away. Even though this revelation sent immediately made my stomach flutter and then flush with warmth, I masked it with a forced sarcasm. "That idiot shouldn't have told you no. It wouldn't have been a big deal if he missed a couple nights of dinner. So, uh, anyways, I was just going to ask about something Brooke saw in the woods. Before you freak out, _no_. She doesn't know anything. But she's suspicious. She was out Sunday night, when she said she saw a pack of people run past her. And she also mentioned glowing red eyes."

"Oh," Scott frowned and glanced around, touching my shoulder to signal me to step farther away from the public's ears. He lowered his voice to continue whispering. "How many did you say?"

"Four people, at least."

"And how many had red eyes?"

"Oh, just one. Apparently he looked straight at her."

Scott nodded. "It was probably Derek training Jackson and Isaac. Peter was probably there, too. If you're really worried about it, though, we can ask Isaac."

I chewed my lip thoughtfully and nodded. That's what I'd assumed, too. But I thought hearing it from Scott would reassure me. It did, a little. He's so sure of himself—like Derek, but not as grouchy. More confident, less cocky.

"But you said she's suspicious? What does that mean?"

"Just, she's freaking out about what she saw. And honestly? I can't blame her. Can you?"

Scott sighed heavily and shook his head. "But this is bad. You have to make sure she doesn't find out. The last thing we need is one more person in danger because they know too much."

"I know, I know. I've been listening to her insane theories all week, and the best thing she's come up with is an alternate dimension."

"What?" Scott's face scrunched and I shook my head, my eyes closed.

"Don't ask," I murmured. "Do not ask."

He raised an eyebrow at me but nodded. "Well, good. You're doing the right thing, Savannah. She's better off not knowing."

"Yeah," I sighed. "I know."

And that was all well and good. Scott and I parted ways after that, and I headed to English with Stiles and tried to pretend that what Scott told me wasn't eating at my mind every time he said something that _might_ have passed for flirting. Everything was fine. It was all going according to plan.

Then, Brooke found me at the end of the day. She caught me in the parking lot, proclaiming that she'd remembered something else about that night.

Just before she'd seen the people, she remembered hearing a loud howl that creeped her out. She had come to ask me if I knew of any wolves in Beacon Hills. Stiles immediately interjected, telling Brooke that wolves hadn't been seen in Beacon Hills for well over fifty years. Brooke then posed a particularly well-aimed question about some _body_ he and Scott found in those same woods last year. Didn't _that_ body have animal hair on it, she asked? And wasn't that hair _wolf's_ hair?


	53. Tell Me It's Real

She said I really don't mind if you have to leave my side  
Cause I've been made to walk alone all the way through my life  
And I never really thought about it, no I never really thought about it  
It's because of you that I believe in me for first time  
I know, love's always been sink or swim so I won't  
say it's over just as it begins,  
So tell me it's real, just tell me it's real

- _Tell Me It's Real, by Seafret_

* * *

"Okay," Stiles said, standing in front of the corkboard in his room. There were papers, pictures and diagrams tacked up. Red yarn zigzagged all across them, winding a twisting path from one side to the next—all the way down to the end, where a picture of Brooke had been circled in black marker several times. "Repeat the plan to me."

"But you do it so much better," I dodged, trying to bat my lashes at him.

"Wha—" Stiles blinked at me, his focus slipping, and then quickly shook his head. "No, come on, Savannah. I need to know that you can do this!"

"But I can," I practically whined. Casually, I went to lie back on his bed. Stiles hesitated as I moved away, looking like he wanted to drag me back.

"Savannah," He slowly said. I contentedly sighed and stretched my arms back, settling into his mattress with my eyes closed. "Savannah, come on! This is important. Brooke knows too much! This was _your_ idea, by the way."

I yawned and arched an eyebrow. "Brooke doesn't know a thing," I dismissed, turning over on my side to face the other wall. "On Wednesday she told me she thought they were aliens. I just want to make sure it stays that way…"

"No," Stiles said in a stern voice. "She's in too deep. She knows about the body in the woods; she knows there was _wolf_ hair on it. We have to find out how much she actually knows!" He quickly crossed his room to climb onto the foot of the bed. He grabbed me by the arm and I grunted in protest as he started to drag me off. "Come— _on!_ "

"No!" I yanked my arm out of his grasp and flung myself backwards, but he just snatched my boot and started to pull me back that way, letting out an equally frustrated _yes_. So I reached behind my head and grabbed the headboard. " _No!"_

"Savannah!" Stiles growled. "Stop fighting me!"

"Never!"

"This is important!"

"Sleep is important!"

"You can _sleep_ when the plan is done!"

I kicked my feet and he lost his grip for a second, batting at my boots and trying to grab ahold of me. He gave up on that when they started to slide off, instead aiming for my leg. "Stiles!" I squeaked, and my heart spasmed when he grabbed my legs and tugged me back with surprising strength. I yelped when I couldn't keep my grip without using my claws, and I wasn't trying to damage his furniture, so I was forced to let him drag me to the end of the bed. I threw my head back to expel a dramatic groan. "Why do you hate me?"

"Because I care about you, you idiot!" He exclaimed, and I felt my mouth clamp shut and my eyes nearly pop out of my head as I snapped to attention. "And I care about Scott! And I'm not going to let our secret get exposed by the most prying girl in school!"

Then I deflated. "Oh." My frown was focused on his hands, which still gripped my legs under my calves. And my emotions were at war with themselves because I was frustrated and confused. Stiles was still kneeling at the foot of the bed, so basically he had pulled me forward until he was knelt between my knees. How can he say things like that—implying that he feels the same platonic affection for me as he does for Scott—as he's holding me like _this?_ I'm basically straddling him!

"What?" Stiles' tone shifted as he noticed the change in my body language.

In a fit of aggravation, my bitter words spilled out of my mouth unfiltered. "Do you hold Scott like this, too?"

Silence. My eyes widened in horror as my words caught up to me, and Stiles' confused expression shattered to shock. We were still as the implication of what I'd said soaked in. Just when I thought I might pass out from anxiety, Stiles said, "Is that what you think? That I see you like I see Scott?"

My aggravation flared again. "That's _literally_ what you just said," I growled.

Frustratingly, Stiles just smirked and even snorted out a little laugh. "Savannah, Scott is my best friend."

I tried to pull away, my heart racing and face burning in humiliation as what I knew all along finally came to fruition. " _Yeah_ , I know. I get it."

"No, I don't think you do." He slid his hands out from under my legs and I looked anywhere but at him as I quickly backed up on the bed and muttered something under my breath.

"Savannah, would you stop?"

I concentrated on climbing off the bed. "Stiles, I just really need a minute to go find a hole in the ground to swallow me—"

When I tried to pass around him, he stood from the bed and stepped in my way. I clenched my jaw and stared hard at the ground, my nose flaring.

"Stiles, _move_."

He stepped closer, and I grew very still as he kept coming. Slowly, he crept closer. I didn't dare look up as his white shoes took another step, and then another. And another, until the toes of his white sneakers almost touched the toes of my boots.

My breathing came rapidly as his hand brushed the hair off my shoulder and he murmured my name. I looked up and his eyes were strangely determined as he placed his hand over the racing pulse in my neck and his thumb brushed my jaw.

"Stiles," I managed, my voice little more than a croak. "What are you—"

"Shut up," He whispered, and then grew even closer, until our noses brushed and I couldn't speak anymore. Our lips touched together—softly—and I gasped lightly as he grabbed me by the face and finally kissed me. Immediately, I jerked back in shock and Stiles' eyes snapped open as I pulled away to gawk at him.

He didn't let me go too far, his thumb grazing along my jaw. "Does that clear things up? Or should I elaborate?"

A weird croak escaped me and I blinked. "But—"

He cut me off with another kiss, this one more intense as he pulled me flush against him and told me to just stop talking. After a moment of his lips settling into mine, I softened and finally wrapped my arms around his neck to lean into it. For a glorious moment, I let my thoughts go and lost myself in the feeling of him. In the feeling of _this_ , his soft lips pressing hungrily against mine, the rush of adrenaline, the burn of my lungs from lack of oxygen that made my head spin. Or maybe that's just Stiles, and his hands that seemed to know exactly what to do to make me loose my breath. I mean, who knew he was hiding _this_ under all that sarcasm and odd charm?

But of course, all good things must come to an end. And in this case it came to a crashing end as we somehow backed over his desk chair and my head bashed into the wall after we went down.

I burst out laughing and Stiles was laughing too, but more in concern as his fingers gently swept over the spot that had been hit. "Are you okay?"

"No, actually, I'm still a little confused. Could you explain it again—except maybe this time a little slower?"

Stiles snorted and brushed his hand across the exposed band of my stomach where my shirt rode up as he gripped me by the hips to pull me upright. "First you need to repeat the plan to me."

I feigned puzzlement, shaking my head. "What plan?"

Stiles' eyes flashed as he looked like he wanted to strangle me and also laugh at my persistence. "Savannah—" He started, but I broke into a wide grin and he sighed heavily as I pressed my lips against his palm. He seemed to melt slightly at the tender gesture, and I quickly looked away, suddenly overwhelmed by the emotions expressed in his face.

"Okay." I grunted and pushed myself off the floor with a brush of my clothes. Turning to offer my hand down to Stiles, I gestured to his board. "So, here's what we know…"

* * *

Even after all that, neither of us directly vocalized what the change in the nature of our relationship actually meant. We never said it aloud. I mean, Stiles made his feelings pretty clear. He cares about me, in that same loyal way that he cares for Scott, except he also has the urge to grab me by the face and shut me up with a kiss. Which, I'm assuming, he doesn't have a similar urge where Scott's concerned.

So now it's a different kind of problem. Or—no. I'm not going to call it a problem. It's not a problem. It's—fucking _perfect_ , that's what it is. Or, it would be. Except we still haven't really confessed anything to each other. Or addressed anything directly.

And maybe it's just because I'm a girl. As abrasive and dickish as I am, there are some things that I simply can't help. DTR is in my DNA.

Ew—burn that sentence. Burn it with gasoline and hellfire. It was too much—too girly. What is this boy doing to me?

My point is, I felt like I needed to know if it was real. I needed to hear him say it out loud to me, cement the unspoken words that pass between us with every shared glance and gentle touch. It's almost hard to put into words how fragile this whole thing feels. But one thing I know for sure: I'm just a little terrified by it. It's new. And it happened so quickly, there's always a chance that…

I sighed heavily, my chin in my palm and eyes glancing over to the clock on the wall for the thousandth time. It was my first period of class and I've been keeping track of the passing minutes. Concentrating on anything that the teacher has to say is just _not_ in the cards today.

My mind is consumed with a clawing kind of panic. Like I can't sit still through my fluttering heart every time the memory brushes back across my mind, and I have to wonder if I'd dreamt it. And if not, do I really want it to be real?

It's so much. I'm overwhelmed with the feeling that it's too much, too fast. That could wreck me if I'm not careful. The possibility that I could be nothing more than a rebound to Stiles is poisoning whatever is blossoming between us, and I hate it and I desperately wish I could just stop feeling that way but I can't. I'm dreading the next time I see him because… Because what if I finally see him again and he doesn't look fazed at all? What if he pretends nothing ever happened?

At the beginning of class, I was relieved to have a moment alone to think. Brooke had barged into my class to tell me something that I can't quite remember, and basically, with my mind so on edge and bouncing from thought to thought, somehow we worked out that I would come over after school.

It was part of the plan that Stiles and I made, of course. But I can't for the life of me remember the details of our conversation. I know that Brooke told me something else about her research, and I know that I suggested coming over to see if I could help. I can definitely remember her being hesitant at the idea, though, because that stood out as strange to me. I had expected her to explode with happiness at the suggestion.

After a brief moment of hesitation, she agreed. And then the bell rang and she was shooed out of class, and I was left alone to think about it all for a moment.

Of course, you know what I thought about. Soon the relief passed and my anxiety kicked in. My doubts creeped into the butterflies that fluttered around my stomach, dragging them down with a sort of sick dread. I didn't want to see him. I was afraid of it. I was sure that when I did, all I would find is rejection. So I finally plotted to avoid him for the rest of the day and just focus on that plan he wanted. Go to Brooke's house. Find out what she knows. If she's even _hinting_ at anything werewolf, do whatever it takes to throw her off that trail. Even if it means laughing at her. Even if it means telling her she's taken things too far and she needs to come back down to Earth with the rest of us. And if it's necessary, I'll have to cut ties with her.

But then the bell rang and as I geared up to go the long way around to my locker, I found Stiles already waiting for me in the hall, and my heart stopped and I was frozen with surprise and nervousness.

It's new to me. All of this, this whole— _whatever_ this is? It's new to me. I've never been afraid to face a boy that I just kissed. I've never been dreadful of what he might have to say to me. It's never mattered so much to me that I felt like my entire sanity hinged on how this single interaction would go.

"Hey," I quietly breathed, as students flooded around me to break off into the hall. Stiles stepped away from the wall and I was reassured a little at how uncertain he seemed too.

"Hi," He said, his hand nervously fidgeting with the strap of his backpack. "So I was thinking." _Oh, God. Here we go. This is it._ "I couldn't exactly remember, though. You have Geography next, right?"

I stared at him, his words not quite registering because I had so thoroughly braced myself for the worst. "What?"

"Geography," He said, tossing a vague gesture over his shoulder in the general direction of my class. "You have that next, don't you?"

I nodded, clutching my books tightly in my hands with a hesitant frown.

"Knew it." Coming to stand beside me, he turned like we would start walking together. Unsure of how to even react, I slowly mirrored him and unintentionally set us off at a sluggish pace. I think I was waiting for him to turn in the other direction and remember he needed to go to his locker. He noticed how weirdly I was moving and raised an eyebrow at me. "What are you doing?"

"I'm—we're walking," I said, wide eyed and struggling to even complete the simple task of turning a corner without looking like a constipated zombie. "This is how I walk, what are you talking about?"

He laughed loudly and it seemed to break some sort of tension in me as his eyes swept over me and I grinned on instinct. "I'm rubbing off on you. You definitely just deflected my question."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I played along, my heart unclenching and movements becoming slowly more fluid as we fed off each other. "I'm just trying to get to class, and you're breathing down my neck like a stalker."

"A stalker?" He parroted, an amused smile on his face. "Am I creeping you out?"

I held in a laugh as his arm brushed mine when he altered his walking to basically be on top of me. Stiles purposely labored his breath and even went so far as to sniff dramatically at my hair, and I pushed him off.

He pushed back and snickered when I just came to a stop and he ran into my back. His fingers ran up my spine like a spider and I swatted him away, putting some distance between us as we carried on down the hall and he snickered. "So what, should I ask permission to walk with you next time?"

"That depends." We started up a flight of stairs and I took the lead, glancing over my shoulder periodically. "If I tried to tell you that I'll be at a meeting with Ms. Morrell when our next class lets out, so you can't walk me, what would you do then?"

"I would just go meet you there instead," He easily snorted.

I scoffed. "You're describing the behavior of a stalker right now, Stiles." We started down the hall and he tilted his head.

"Am I?" He nonchalantly asked, apparently unconcerned.

I snorted at him as we reached my door. "See you after class."

He grinned triumphantly, like he'd just won a prize or something, and I just smirked knowingly.

* * *

For the first time in our friendship, I was the one to actively seek Brooke out after school. Stiles decided he would take the opportunity to go spend some long overdue bro-time with Scott, and I sought out Brooke's locker.

When I got there, she had apparently overcome her reluctance at my impending visit. "I can't wait for you to finally meet Francis!" She exclaimed, leading the way out of the school to her car. "She's already heard a lot about you. But be warned, she can tend to be a little cavalier. Don't take it personally. It's all part of her vetting process."

I thought it was strange for her to refer to her mother by her first name, but I tried to veil this entire experience by being casual and taking everything in stride. "Am I being selecting for something?"

Brooke giggled and waved at someone as we passed. "Don't be ridiculous. She's just picky about who I spend my time with."

"And how heavily does her opinion weigh with you?"

"She's almost always right," Brooke sounded somewhat resentful of this, and she guided me through the rows of cars until we reached a red bug. I couldn't even pretend to be surprised that this was her vehicle, and I told her so. "Yeah, it's basically the vehicular version of me. His name is Rhonda."

" _His?"_ I asked, giving her a strange look as I slid into the passenger seat.

"Mhm," She obliviously nodded, and I looked away with wide eyes. "I'm surprised Stiles let you out of his sight long enough to come over tonight," she began as we drove along.

I laughed, though it was a little forced because my heart wasn't in it. Truthfully, I'd have rather spent the rest of the night watching television with him, or starting the weekend with a healthy lacrosse practice with him and Scott. "To be fair, he was the one who suggested that we do this."

Brooke's eyebrows shot up as she pulled out of the parking lot, glancing between me and the road as if she found that hard to believe. "Wait, seriously?"

I nodded. "I mean, he's a pretty curious guy. I think he just wants to know what you've found in your research."

"Curious," Brooke snorted. "He's downright prying."

I smirked. "Funny. He said the same thing about you."

"What?" She exclaimed, this time glancing at me with wide, offended eyes. "Why me?"

"Oh, just how much you seem to know about stuff."

"Like what?"

"Like the body they found in the woods."

"OH, that." She grinned and shook her head. "That was covered in the school newspaper!"

I paused to frown, looking down at the dash thoughtfully. "The school has a newspaper?"

Brooke grew quiet for a moment, her smile slowly fading when she realized it was a serious question. "I'm the editor-in-chief."

My eyebrows shot up. "Oh!"

"Yeah," She said, keeping her gaze focused out the windshield.

Feeling awkward, I tried to think of something to say to fix the damage I'd dealt. But all I could come up with was a quieter, "Oh."

Silence stretched between us for only a few moments before Brooke bounced right back. "We don't get much publicity. It's hard to do when our school is already so gossipy. Nothing is news! Word of mouth is king. And do you know how impossible it is to compete with social media?"

With that, Brooke launched into a detailed rant about how social media is destroying most printed newspaper companies, and how sad she thinks that is. There's something about holding the newspaper in your hands, she said, that just feels so right.

She was apparently so passionate about this issue, being that it greatly impacted her duties as editor of the school paper, that she was able to fill the entire ride to her house with her fervent and startlingly educated opinions. Only a few short prompts were really necessary from me.

When we pulled up I thought she'd taken a wrong turn to a museum or something. It looked like an architectural masterpiece. It made the Argents' house look like a soup kitchen.

Brooke was mildly embarrassed at my astonishment. She played it down greatly, saying there were more rooms than she knew what to do with. In reality, they only used about eight of them, including bathrooms.

But as we went up to the great porch (pillars, people. Enough said.) and were greeted by a housekeeper, I shot her a look that made her stop talking. Part of me marveled at the fact that this sort of house even _existed_ outside of Los Angeles where the stars lived, or Europe, where generations of royal blood claimed land with castles and had money to clean their helicopters with.

"What does Francine do, again?" I asked, as Brooke led me up the grand staircase to the second floor.

Brooke gave me a questioning smile. "Right now she's probably curled in her tower under the skylights."

Um? Wait… "Your mom?"

She looked surprised, and then suddenly slightly pitying. "No, honey. That isn't how a your-momma joke works. The goal is—"

"Shut up," I snapped, and her eyebrows shot up. "Are we not talking about your mom?"

Brooke burst out laughing. I watched her with wide eyes, as she grasped my shoulder and bent at the waist from her laughter that resounded against the tall walls and echoed in the high ceilings.

She gasped, standing upright and struggling to compose herself. I sighed and she looked at me for half a second before bursting into another fit of giggles.

I rolled my eyes and counted to ten, my patience waning as she seemed to share in her own private joke at my expense. I _hate_ being made to feel like the butt of a joke.

"Francine the Birman."

I blinked at her as she watched me with a wide smile and waited for me to slap my forehead in realization. Unable to mask the usual bitter tinge to my words that I try to keep from her, I felt my lip curl as I said, "That word means nothing to me."

Brooke's smile finally fell a bit. "She's a cat."

 _Oh._ At first, I was surprised. Then the embarrassment came, followed closely by a flush of humor. I grinned and it bled the tension from the air just as quickly as it had come.

Brooke made a comment about being excited to see Francine meet me for the first time, leading the way into her stunning room. It was a pastel blue with a pristine white bed that needed steps due to its height. Twinkle lights cast all around the walls softened the room and made it feel inviting.

I suppose I shouldn't be so taken aback by Brooke's extravagant house. Her eccentricity had to come from somewhere, and I could see how this lavish lifestyle could enable such behavior. Privately, I began to wonder why someone who has as much money as Brooke does attends a community high school. It felt a bit intrusive to ask, so I kept my mouth shut. I've done enough damage for one visit, thank you. I'm here for a reason—a plan.

The reminder focused my mind again as Brooke immediately went to a small little cat tower that was in one corner of her room. There was a large window in that corner, along with a window seat. The cat tower was positioned right next to the window seat, and above them I saw those skylights she mentioned.

"Francine?" She called, touching the cat tower. A hiss came from under her bed. Brooke frowned. "Francy Pants? What's wrong?"

I backed to the door and nudged it open as she approached her bed. Brooke got to her knees and called out the cat's name again.

"Maybe you shouldn't," I said, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

"She's not usually like this, though." Brooke sounded worried as she peered under the bed. "There you are, Francy Pants. What's wrong, baby?" Another hiss. "Hey! Relax!" She reached under the bed. "Savannah is—"

There was an aggressive feline yowl, followed by Brooke jerking away from the bed with a loud cry. I silently cursed and moved away from the door, but kept my distance as Brooke cradled her hand to her chest, her heart audibly racing.

"Francine!" She sounded absolutely distraught as her cat let out another squall, lower and more defensive this time. "What has gotten _into_ you? Did Abena give you a bath or—"

She scarcely scrambled out of the way in time as her cat suddenly bolted. All I saw was a blur of fur, cream and brown, streak past and fly out the door. There was another impending silence as Brooke and I stared at the door.

I looked back at Brooke. She was sitting on her butt, her hands still braced behind her. Her mouth hung open and her face was twisted with baffled worry.

In an attempt to fill the moment with some humor, I said, "I think it went well!"

Brooke looked up at me, completely unamused. "I've _never_ seen her act that way. Not ever."

I shifted on my feet. "I'm pretty off putting."

Brooke quietly got to her feet and muttered something about needing to go find her cat. I suggested maybe finding some bandages first, but it fell on deaf ears as she disappeared through the door and I was left alone in her room.

I considered following her, but something told me Brooke wouldn't rest until she found her cat and reconnected with her. A sigh escaped my lips and I turned back to her huge room.

This is _not_ going how I planned. Time to improvise. Casting a look around her room, I saw a tall bookshelf and fluffy looking chair. The textures in this room ranged from smooth, pristine glass, to fuzzy fabric and studded armrests.

The bookshelf was filled from top to bottom. Fictional novels, encyclopedias, college level textbooks, high school level textbooks, yearbooks, classic novels, Russian novels, a massive dictionary.

I didn't even touch it. Nearby, a computer desk was littered with papers.

 _Bingo_.

The pages were marked to hell. Articles were circled, paragraphs highlighted, quotes underlined. Some of it was nonsense. Some of it was… unsettlingly close to the truth. Reports on animal attacks in Beacon Hills. Unexplained damage to abandoned property, blamed on the homeless that still plague the streets even after the new mayor had been in office for four months.

I found a front-page cover from last year's local paper that had been marked all to hell. And then another smaller one, and another, and another.

Suddenly, I wished with an overwhelming intensity that Stiles was here. I'm over my head. Way, _way_ over my head. How am I going to explain this away? She's got evidence here that would make Sheriff proud.

But the longer I looked, the more I realized that for every piece of evidence that seemed like it had the potential to cross boundaries from hunch to lead, they all fell short of one thing. Sheriff's golden rule. One's an incident. Two is a coincidence. Three is a pattern.

Brooke had stockpiles of incidents, very few coincidences, and thankfully no patterns at all. But all it really took is a vivid imagination and a step out of the box to see the whole picture. She had a bunch of fractured puzzle pieces, but nowhere near enough to be able to fill the gaping holes in the story her evidence told. Unless you started filling the blanks yourself.

I needed to keep calm. It was so important that she didn't catch how flustered I really was. Another wave of desperation to have Stiles here to help handle this washed over me, and I gripped an article tightly enough to wrinkle it.

Quickly, I slapped it against the desk and smoothed it out with tight pressure.

"Abena made pretty patties!" Brooke chirped behind me. I turned to see her, and an older, stocky woman with beautifully dark skin following behind her. The woman wore a neat brown dress and had her hair pulled back into a slick bun.

"They are called _macaroons_. Hello, Miss Savannah," She greeted, a small grin on her face.

"Um, hi…" I looked at the vividly colored cakes stacked on the tray in her hands. They honestly _did_ look like the multi-colored krabby patties that Spongebob made in that one episode. "What are they?"

"Pretty patties!"

Abena shot Brooke a scolding look and went to set the tray down on the small table at the end of Brooke's bed, scooting her vase of roses aside to make room. "Macaroons are cakes made with almond flour and silvers of almonds." She paused. "Well, there are many ways to prepare them. I think the almonds are the best way."

"And how!" Brooke agreed.

I tried to keep the distaste from my face as I looked at the bright green, pink, and blue patties on the tray.

Brooke picked up a pink one, which was when I finally noticed her freshly bandaged hand. She bit into it happily, abruptly turning it around so I could see the inside. "These are raspberry, the blue are mint, and the green ones are pistachio!"

My mouth popped open and I nodded. "That's—they're—wow."

Abena laughed at me and Brooke quickly waved a calming hand through the air. "You don't have to have any. They're my favorite."

"You said my snickerdoodles were your favorite," Abena teased, and Brooke sighed.

"I love everything you make, you beautiful swan woman."

Abena chuckled and waved her off, quickly taking her leave with a brief parting to me.

I was trying to think of something nice to say about the patties as Brooke approached me from behind. So distracted by the bizarre food I was just introduced to, I almost forgot what I just found.

Brooke pointed at one article, catching some crumbs as she took a large bite of her pink macaroon. "That's the one that I told you about."

I looked down. It was the coverage of something that happened last year at a movie rental store. All that it said was that there were three people inside at the time of the break in, and the worker had been murdered. It gave the worker's names, but the other two customers were left anonymous.

"It says that the break in was thought to be a mountain lion."

I kept my face straight, tilting my head curiously. "A mountain lion?"

She nodded, pulling a chair up from beside the bookcase to sit beside me. "But that's not how I heard it." Brooke discarded of the macaroon in a bin I hadn't noticed, quickly told me not to tell Abena, and then dragged the article closer. "The cameras never caught a definite picture of whatever attacked the store. Whatever it was, it moved too fast, and it ripped the clerk's throat out."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. "That sounds like something a mountain lion would do if it was cornered," I tried, keeping my voice curious.

"Yeah, in the _wild_ maybe. What the hell was it doing in a video store?"

"I don't know," I said, shrugging a shoulder. "Obviously it went rabid."

Brooke winced, shaking her head. "Maybe, but I don't think so."

She then showed me another incident, similar to that, but on a bus at our own high school. I remembered that. The school was in an uproar for days after that.

"They said that was a mountain lion, too."

Brooke shook her head. "It doesn't make sense. Why would all the mountain lions just—go berserk like that?"

Unwilling to offer her any suggestions, I put my hand out. "What do you think?"

"Promise me you won't laugh," She warned. I put my fingers up.

"Girl scout's honor."

She grinned. Encouraged, she turned back to the articles on her desk. "After everything I've read, all the reports and case files, the incidents and eyewitness testimony…" She paused. "This is gonna sound crazy."

"We passed crazy about six other times this week," I said, giving her a dry look.

She took in a deep breath. "I've been seriously researching… vampires."

"Vampires." I looked at her, blankly, and she eagerly nodded.

"Think about it! All these victims, their crime scenes were bloody as all get out. The throats were the primary targets! And then there's all the actual animal behavior!" She grew serious, turning to me with a stern expression. "Vampires are supernatural, right? So what's bound to happen with the natural and the supernatural collide?"

I shook my head.

"Chaos. Attacks." She paused and looked back at the articles. "Some of the attacks might seriously have been animal attacks. But what about the rest of them? A lion mountain in a store? What if there's more to it than the newspapers are saying?"

I wanted to point out that the bodies weren't drained of blood, but that would sort of defeat the purpose of why I'm here. As long as she wasn't entertaining the notion of werewolves… I could work with vampires.

She then revealed a huge, intricate file on her computer. Pages and pages of incidents around the world, similar to what's happened in Beacon Hills. Many of those pages suspect vampires, as well. There were particularly helpful pages coming from a blog in some town name Mystic Falls, Virginia. Brooke seemed just about absolutely convinced at this point.

"They've been hiding in plain sight," She said. "And we would never know it. Not according to these reports. It just makes so much sense!"

I sighed and raised my eyebrows, rubbing my face tiredly. "I don't know, Brooke. It's a lot to take in."

"Come on," She suddenly urged. "Help me research. Let me show you what I've found. Let me explain my thought process."

And she did. I watched her jump from website to website, each more detailed than the last. She warmed me up to it at first, sticking mostly to facts and confirmed cases in the news. But then, as she got deeper into it, she started doing what I said before. Filling in the blanks. Jumping to logical conclusions, based on overlapping details that she's pulled from numerous cases.

Everything points to a supernatural predator lurking out there in the dark. Could I imagine it? If the stories were true?

A lot of her passion had to do with the fact that she'd seen Derek and the others in the woods. I knew that. If it hadn't been for them, Brooke never would have started down this path.

By the end of it all, it was close to ten o'clock at night. I let her talk to me until I couldn't take it anymore, and suggested that we watch a movie or something. She agreed, apologizing for letting it all get away from her so much, and then Brooke introduced me to a show called Bob's Burgers.

We watched quite a few episodes of that—enough for me to decide that I favored Louise above the rest of the characters (Brooke liked Tina)—and then we were interrupted by her mother.

The woman was intimidating, to say the least. I couldn't fathom how the bitch spawned someone as kind and hyperactive as Brooke. She was just as surprised to see me as I her, and she made a comment to Brooke about needing to get her cat under control before it destroyed the veranda. Brooke attempted to deflect it with telling her about the community work she was organizing for her art club, and her mom responded by her that she needed to start going to choir practice twice a week. She said her voice at mass on Wednesday was off pitch. In fact, she would hope that Brooke would rehearse at least once before Sunday morning on her own.

After that, I realized how lonely Brooke truly is. She brushed the encounter off after her mom left, but I could tell it had deeply affected her. And it wasn't the first time, I knew. That sort of thing doesn't just happen once. Not considering how normal Brooke treated it.

She explained to me that her mom was under a lot of stress, and she only expected the best of both her children. Then she made a slightly passive aggressive comment about her brother being away at college and not having to deal with it as much anymore. Her father is preoccupied with his own business, she explained. His hotel takes up a lot of his time.

I think she had planned to offer me to stay the night, but after everything that happened, I think she just wanted to be alone. So I said that I had a project I needed to start on for my Geography class, and she seemed relieved to take me home. But she didn't drop me off without saying she'd really like to do it again soon, and maybe next time I could stay the night. I started to get out and she stopped me before I could move.

Her face was serious as she looked at me the the darkness of her car, the sun having set long ago. I knew she probably couldn't see much of my face, only the general shapes and outlines. "I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me."

What a loaded request. I stared at her for a few breaths before finally nodding slowly.

"All of this research I've done... you're the only one who hasn't laughed at me." She paused. "For the most part, at least. And I appreciate that more than you know. I know the way I come off. I'm loud, and hyper, and maybe even a bit touched in the head at times. And Stiles isn't wrong, it probably does seem like I gossip a lot. But it's only because I care about people so much. Especially when they're as strong as you are. So I just... I just need you to tell me if it's real."

Her speech had surprised me a bit. Honestly, I wasn't expected the respect she seemed to hold for me. "If what's real?"

"Are you a vampire, Savannah?"

My eyebrows dipped and I know that I should have laughed it off, or something like that. But it didn't feel good. Having to lie to her like this, it didn't feel good at all. She's so close to the truth—she's just to the left of it. She's undoubtedly picked up some peculiar signals from me, especially since she's been looking for them now. I hide it as well as I can, but who knows what she's noticed. And I can't help but feel humbled at how willing she is to put her trust in me, when all I've really done is shut up and listen to her. "No, Brooke. I'm not a vampire."

It's the truth, so I could say it definitively. She seemed to deflate then. "Yeah," She breathed. "That's what I was afraid of."

I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't be encouraging without being outrightly dishonest, so I simply said goodnight and got out of the car.

By the time I got in, it was close to midnight. Sheriff was already dead to the world. I think Stiles might have stayed the night over at Scott's, which was good because it gave them more time together. Also, it gave me time to fill about twenty six pages of my journal.

As I lay on the couch that night, Sheriff snoring in his room, I tried to figure out what we would do about Brooke. Eventually researching isn't going to be enough for her. Someday she's going to go poking around for proof. I'm worried that the day she does decide to do it, she's going to run headfirst into trouble.

What if she discovers Derek and Peter? They won't be nearly as understanding as I would be, or as Scott would be. I admit, there was a fleeting instance where I entertained the idea of breaking it all to her. But then I thought about the reality of what that would mean, and I quickly dismissed it. Still. It bothered me right up until my eyes grew heavy.

I fell asleep to with a smile playing at my lips, my stomach in excited knots as I thought about seeing Stiles again tomorrow morning.

* * *

 ** _I'M SO NERVOUS FOR YOUR RESPONSE. I'm seriously afraid to post this. BUT IT NEEDED TO HAPPEN, YOU GUYS. IT'S TAKEN SO LONG. IT'S BEEN BUILDING FOR SOO LONG. FINALLY, THE LONG AWAITED KISS. *Screams* AND I STUCK IT AT THE BEGINNING OF THE CHAPTER TOO LOLOL. That was accidental. It just worked out that way with the way these chapters flow. BUT OMG, OMG, THEY KISSED! WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR THE FUTURE!?_**

 _ **Also, I saw this thing on twitter that showed a conversation that two people had over text that went like**_

 _ **Person 1: Wait, did you just flirt with me?**_

 _ **Person 2: Have been for the past year, but thanks for noticing.**_

 _ **I almost wished I could go back and add that because it sounds so like Stiles and Savannah with either of them fitting either role, but... I really thought it was time for this chapter to happen! Anyways, how about it?! What did you think?**_


	54. Golden Snitches and Oh Shit-ses?

**_All of your reactions were very encouraging! Yes, as many of you said, STAVANNAH HAS TAKEN OFF :D I couldn't be happier!_**

 ** _I think one of you asked if I planned to do a TVD crossover because of that reference I stuck in last chapter, but let me just say, nooo. That would be cool! But there's already too much I have planned as is. Fitting in a crossover on top of it all would be complicated, to say the least. Sorry! You can think of it as an Easter egg for the holiday, or if you aren't into that... think of it as a nice little present to make you smile :)_**

* * *

Have you ever waken up exhausted? My day started off like I'd just been put through the wringer a few thousand times. I couldn't remember any of the dreams I'd had, but something told me that was a good thing.

The house was empty and I felt weird being here without either of the Stilinskis present. Sheriff must have gone to work, but I don't remember waking at all. I don't think I even stirred in the night after I'd fallen asleep. And still, I felt agitated. Like I was being driven to the edge of something and no matter how hard I dug my heels into the dirt, the force was stronger.

First I tried watching TV, but every channel annoyed me. I tried doing laundry, but it was all done. I wandered the house for as long as I could stand before I went out to the backyard and set the lacrosse goal up again.

With every ball I threw, the tension in me drew tighter and tighter, like a rubber band being stretched. I couldn't shake the feeling that Brooke was just barely overlooking the truth about me, and one of these times, she's going to catch it. And then it's all going to come crashing down around us.

This past week has been all about finding our bearings again. It's been about us adjusting to all the changes that took effect after that final show down with Gerard and Jackson, and just as we seemed to fall into some semblance of a routine, something came along and threatened to knock it all off balance again.

A pile of lacrosse balls lay by my feet. It was quickly shrinking as I shoveled the white balls into the pocket, some grass and dirt flying up with them, and hurled them as hard as I could. I channeled my anger and overwhelming sense of vulnerability into each motion.

The shovel. The scoop. The lift. The angle. The toss and the click of the ball swishing against the net. Scoop and repeat. My throat burned and my mind only seemed to fixate on that heavy sensation I woke up with—like something's pressing over my mouth and it wouldn't let up. Not until I fight back. But I don't want to have to fight back anymore. I just want to _rest._

 _Savannah_.

A muddled voice broke through my frantic, angry motions, but I ignored it and scooped another ball. Lift.

 _Hey!_

Aim, then the ball whizzing through the air. _Swish_.

"Savannah." A hand grabbed my elbow and I started to draw it back and strike, but I saw Stiles stumble back at the last second, his hand raised defensively.

I panted heavily and watched him warily, my limbs frozen carefully. He looked undeniably freaked out. I knew him well enough to recognize that my ferocity didn't scare him, but it definitely set his alarms off.

I backed away several paces, my fingers tightly grasping the lacrosse stick as my chest continued to lift with every huff.

"Hey," He said, gently, his eyes catching everything I did, and his movements shifted accordingly. To my almost aggressive guard, he relaxed his movements and softened his voice. His hands were raised like someone trying to calm a wild animal, but even as he attempted to soothe me, his presence alone was enough to lift the thick trepidation that had been weighing me down all morning. "What's going on?"

I sighed and wiped at my sweating forehead with my shoulder. The lacrosse stick smacked the grass when I tossed it aside. "Nothing, I was just—"

His expression stopped me short. That _don't patronize me_ cut clearly through the air, and I exhaled sharply. He can read me better than I realized. But I didn't know what to say, because I honestly had no idea what was going on with me. So I just tried to catch my breath and stared at him, letting my silence tell the story in a way that I was unable to articulate.

And he caught every word. The worry drained from his face until it was just a muted concern, and he nodded with his mouth closed, glancing down at the lacrosse stick by my feet. "Does she know?"

I hesitated and then shook my head.

Stiles sighed in relief. "Well, good. That's good," He nodded, and I pressed my lips together and something on his arm as he ran his hand over his short hair caught my gaze.

"What's that?" I asked, and he followed my eyes to the blossoming bruise on his forearm.

"Oh, that. That's—what happens when a human arm-wrestles a beta."

A smirk broke across my face and the subsequent laugh I breathed released some of my tension. "Are you serious?"

Stiles scratched the back of his neck shiftily. "Unfortunately."

"Why?" I grinned.

"Don't ask," He waved me off and even though it killed me, I stifled my curiosity out of respect and finally approached him. His arm dropped from the back of his neck as he watched me come toward him. He didn't try to stop me; he didn't even move. I felt a little rush at his eyes that seemed to have as much an effect on me as his fingers would, pulling me in. But he didn't touch me. He just let me do whatever it was I wanted to do.

Hesitantly, my fingers hovered over his forearm, and butterflies fluttered in my stomach when I finally let my hand brush over his wrist. He held his breath as I let my hand run up his arm, following the veins to the reddish brown mark that marred the skin just a few inches below his elbow. My thumb grazed the bruise and I finally looked up at him with a little smirk that seemed to have a funny effect on him, the color of his eyes darkening slightly as he moved to grasp my arm and tug me closer.

I drew in a surprised breath and he reached up to brush the hair from my still slightly sweating face, and I tried not to be too self-conscious about that since it didn't seem to bother him at all. We were standing so close, I could feel the heat from his body warming me even more than the sun and my racing heart, and I wondered vaguely what had me so apprehensive all morning because it was farthest thing from my mind now.

Stiles drew me close, until I could see every single detail of his face. The freckles and moles on his cheeks that might look odd on most people, but he somehow managed to pull off as endearing, and the way his eyelashes seemed to almost flutter in anticipation as he leaned in, until all I could see were his eyes. It occurred to me for the first time that what I originally thought was an average brown turned out to have a slight ring of gold, like a ring of melted amber just at the edge. But before I could dissect the varying shades of brown further he closed them and I followed his lead.

Our lips couldn't have been more than millimeters apart—the sort of close that felt like you were already touching—when suddenly his phone buzzed in his pocket and we froze. Neither of us moved for a moment.

Then it buzzed again, and he let out a frustrated noise and I grinned.

I took a steadying breath as we pulled away and he testily drew his phone out. Before I could step away, Stiles' arm wrapped around my stomach from behind and he held me in place while he answered his phone.

"What?" He almost snapped, and I stifled a laugh. His nose brushed my hair and I reveled at how sweet the gesture was, goose bumps racing up my back as I bit my lip at all this attention he was showering me with. Scott's tinny voice registered from the other end. Stiles' arm froze. "Right now?" He asked, his arm loosening slightly. "Yeah—no—I know, I'm—we're in the backyard."

I started to pull away again and Stiles prodded his fingers in the soft spot between my ribs in my hips and I yelped and jumped to the side.

He snickered in delight at how easy it was to find my vulnerable spot and tried to prod me again, but I swatted his hand away and quickly fled his reach. "Oh, come on!" He laughed.

"Back off, Stilinski!" I warned, my finger aimed threateningly at his face. He seemed to take it as an invitation and suddenly swiped for it, and I screamed loudly, caught up in the moment as I turned to run towards the stairs.

"Savannah!"

I bounded up the steps and almost plowed straight into Scott as he stepped out of the backdoor. He immediately grabbed me before I could fall as I tripped over his shoes, easily setting me back on my feet.

My hands clutched at Scott's jacket tightly and I tried not to burst out laughing at his confused expression. We both turned to see Stiles waiting at the bottom of the steps, one hand on the railing of the stairs and the other on his hip.

His eyes flitted from my hands, still grasping the shoulder of Scott's tan jacket, to his friend's face and he immediately chirped out a hello as if nothing was happening. I read into that single glance and immediately stepped away from Scott, giving him a light shove towards the stairs as he tried to ask what was going on.

"Less talking," I said. "More lacrosse."

Scott threw me a strange look but descended the steps at his own pace anyways. "I thought we were going to talk about what you found at Brooke's?"

"Oh." I looked at Stiles with a silent question.

"Yeah, I was going to—" He cleared his throat. "Bring that up, but then you—you know, we were playing lacrosse and it just slipped my mind."

Stiles didn't look at either of us as he bent to retrieve the lacrosse stick. Scott raised an eyebrow at me and I nodded.

"Well, you'll be glad to know that Brooke has officially landed on a theory that doesn't involve werewolves."

Scott sighed in relief but Stiles just spun the lacrosse stick, his face not quite ready to accept that so easily. Probably partly because he knew me better than Scott, and partly because he was way more suspicious of people than his friend. "What's she got?"

I opened my mouth and hesitated, glancing between the pair of them with growing sobriety. "More than any of us had hoped."

Scott's relief dropped like an apple from a tree, and he straightened slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, she's been compiling old newspaper clippings. Articles about incidents around Beacon Hills. Anything involving animal attacks or something that's gone unexplained, like when old warehouses are purchased to be renovated and the insides have been completely destroyed by something. Or when she thinks a crime scene seemed like it had more going on than what the police seemed to want the public to think."

"This is bad," Scott frowned, tossing a dreadful glance to his friend. "So what did you do?"

I sighed heavily. "I did what I could. Right up until she told me her best guess."

"Which was?" Stiles impatiently prompted, and I pursed my lips.

"Vampires."

The boys blinked at me for a moment. As the term, and everything that came along with it sank in, the tension drained from their bodies. Scott actually laughed. Stiles grinned and put his hands out.

"Good!" He chirped, shrugging at Scott and I. "That's great! That's so great! Vampires!"

"Oh god," Scott sighed in relief. "For a second there I thought we were going to have to do something."

I shifted uneasily, not quite ready to join in the rejoicing. "Well she's still looking. And I don't think she's gonna stop, you guys."

"But she's chasing a dead end." Scott shook his head at me and Stiles seemed to agree.

"If she goes looking for vampires, I say we let her."

My eyebrows shot up. "We _let_ her?"

"Yeah," Stiles said with a dismissive wave. "If _vampire_ is the best lead she's got, then we should let her chase that until she's worn herself out. Then she'll move on to the next shiny object and we can go back to lying low."

I frowned as Scott went to retrieve some of the lacrosse balls and Stiles and him traded jokes and smart remarks about vampires and sparkling in the sun. Stiles immediately rejected that concept, and then they were off on a whole new tangent about how Twilight sucks and teenage girls are—

They broke off, Scott smacking Stiles' shoulder as he looked dead at me. I gave them an unimpressed expression, and Stiles immediately began to backpedal.

Well, some girls are stupid, he corrected. But not _me_ , of course. I'm smart, he said. I'm probably the smartest one out of all of us. I could run circles around them and they would be too distracted by my legs and my body because if I'm a teenage girl then they're just horny teenage boys and—Scott clamped his hand over his friend's mouth and flashed me a nervous smile.

What Stiles is failing to say, Scott explained, is that some teenage girls are willing to believe anything if a hot guy is involved and it's written in a trashy romance novel. He didn't use those exact words, but you can imagine the gist of it.

Which was an even worse explanation. Stiles could immediately tell that they were quickly losing control of the situation, and with every botched correction they made, they only got themselves in deeper.

But I was hardly paying attention to that. Something Scott said made me kind of get to thinking, and I wagged my finger at them.

"That's it," I interrupted, and they paused in their rambling to look at me with wide eyes and exchanged a cautious glance from the side. "Scott. _You_ can trick her!"

"Me?" He asked, way more surprised than he should be.

Stiles' mouth popped open in surprise and I could tell he was slowly warming to the idea as I rushed forward and nodded excitedly.

"Yes! You said so yourself! Girls will believe anything if a hot guy is saying it!"

"Hot guy?" Stiles suddenly interjected, but I ignored him as I patted the side of Scott's face in encouragement.

"You beautiful genius puppy, you," I said through my grinning teeth, and Scott gently tried to pry my hands off him when I patted him a little too harshly. "You're going to dazzle her!"

"I am?" Scott said, his wide eyes unsure.

"Of course!" I grinned widely. "All you have to do is just… distract her every time she starts to talk about it to me. Which means you'll have to stick close by from now on!"

"Huh?" Stiles said behind us, but he went unheard.

"O-Okay," Scott frowned. "But how do I distract her?"

I shook my head almost pityingly, patting his face again in a patronizing manner. "Oh, Scott," I said. "So naïve. So simple in your way."

"Okay," Stiles uncomfortably cut in between us, pushing Scott's shoulder back. "Just tell him what he should do and stop that."

Scott's frown deepened as he looked between us, but I simply grinned at Stiles innocently, clasping my hands together in reservation. Stiles backed up slightly, pleased. "Scott, just be nice to her, okay?" I shook my head at him. "I don't want you to flirt with her or feed her false hope. We're not trying to hurt her, right? Just protect her. All you have to do is flash a smile and she forgets her name. So just be yourself but include her in our conversations, and she'll follow whatever topic you lay down."

Scott considered this and Stiles seemed somewhat disinterested at this point. Apparently, the vampire-theory really seemed to have dismissed Brooke as a threat in his mind.

Stiles spun the lacrosse stick in his hands and quickly told Scott to go grab the extra one from his room, and we spent the rest of the afternoon practicing.

It actually devolved into a weird kind of made up game that was a bizarre mixture of Simon-says, tag, and capture the flag, and honestly I think we just made up the rules as we went to become more and more competitive with each other. We got props involved from the yard. Wheel barrels and rocks and some of the tires as obstacles, the shed and the porch as opposite bases, three separate teams that somehow worked.

All I know is I never wanted to stop. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard. It was so easy to trick the pair of them that I led with an absurd amount of points, even though our point system made no sense and there wasn't a ref to really keep things civilized. At one part, Scott was carrying Stiles on his back and somehow that translated to triple points, so then I stole him and started carrying him on _my_ back, but then Scott captured the flag when Stiles and I got distracted by the prolonged bodily contact and he ended up winning anyways.

I tried to force a rematch, but both of the boys were hungry, so we went inside to order some Chinese food and pizza and threw a movie in. Scott and I were debating whether or not he actually won since I pointed out that we never even decided how many points would actually win the game, and Scott kept insisting that he captured the flag which was like the golden snitch.

Then Stiles became involved, having overheard his friend's comment from the kitchen. The golden snitch, he said, is overrated. And then he proceeded to explain that the rules of quidditch clearly stated that if the seeker were to catch the golden snitch, that team would simply gain 150 points and end the game. Technically, it doesn't say that capturing the golden snitch would _win_ the came. Just end it. So if the team is behind, but he catches the snitch, then all that does is set them forward 150 points while still potentially leaving them just shy of the opposing team and then effectively _end_ the game, and they should lose anyways.

So, by that reasoning, I pointed out that when the game ended I had a clear lead of points. Scott had captured the flag, sure, but if we're going by points, then I won. Scott shot that down because he pointed out that we didn't ever decide how many points would even win the game. And then I said it didn't matter because I had more than he did, anyways. But then he said he captured the flag. And so on.

When the food came, the argument was pushed aside so we could peacefully enjoy our meal and chat aimlessly about anything that came to mind. The movie played in the living room without us, and it was already halfway over, but we'd all seen it before plenty of times so it didn't really matter.

As I ate, I thought about Brooke again and the worry and anxiety from this morning crept in. Stiles noticed and his hand instinctively reached towards mine under the table, and I shot him an appreciative expression. He squeezed my hand and when Scott stepped out to discard of his trash and return to the living room, he asked me what was wrong.

I admitted that I was still thinking about Brooke. He dismissed it and reassured me that I had a good plan, and Brooke was following the wrong lead. I'm not so sure. She _is_ following the right leads, she's just got the wrong suspects. He didn't see the evidence she had. I did. It was a lot. And she's jumped around so much, who's to say she won't just randomly think of a werewolf and it won't suddenly hit her how much better it fits than vampires?

Stiles said that he thought I was just paranoid and on edge because the full moon was Monday night. I thought maybe he was right, but then, I knew he wasn't. Still, I wanted to believe him so badly, so I nodded and laced my fingers with his to distract myself. He took the hint and started to trace circles across my hand until we finished, going to join Scott in the living room.

* * *

School was stressful today. That feeling from Saturday morning returned Sunday, and it slowly ate at me until I was in a crabby mood for the whole weekend. Stiles was the only one who managed to make me relax at any point, but even with him, I made a lot of snide jokes that he deflected by flirting with me. I gotta hand it to him, it was an effective technique. It's kind of hard to be in a bad mood when the guy you like is being sweet to you at every turn.

To top it off, I got an F on my Chemistry test. Mr. Harris practically skipped to my desk to give it to me. When I got it, I nearly ripped it in half. Somehow I managed to put a lid on my irritation long enough to get out of there, and then I tore it to pieces when Stiles asked me why I looked like someone ran over my foot. He told me that we needed to work on my reaction to failure.

The best piece of news is Brooke's complete one-eighty. She came into school this morning focused on her community outreach program she's putting together for her art club. I recalled her mentioning this to her mother, so I immediately latched onto that and practically threw Scott at her face. She quickly absorbed him, but not without first stunning everyone into that shocked awkward silence by calling him some absurd pet-name that involved chocolate. I can't tell if she seriously likes Scott, or if she just thinks he's hot and enjoys making a big show about flustering him.

In any case, it seemed that Stiles had been right. With finals fast approaching, it wasn't just Brooke who'd shifted her focus. The rest of the school had also shifted its focus from the gossip of last week to the impending essays and final projects, as well as the end of the year party that Lydia usually threw. Specifically whether or not it would happen.

This issue was raised between my group at lunch. It occurred to Stiles, in that moment, that he had actually not seen Lydia for quite some time. He vocalized this to Scott and I, and Scott said that he'd seen her around plenty of times. So had I. She's still the same as always, if a little more mellow as of late without her boyfriend or best friend around to speak with. Stiles hummed thoughtfully about this and seemed to reflect on the matter for the rest of the conversation.

And I was not jealous. _Not_. _Jealous_. Scott subtly cleared his throat at me when I bent my fork in half, and I tried to play it off by bending it back but I just ended up breaking it. Thankfully the cafeteria ladies would never find out it was me since I kicked it under the salad bar before returning my tray.

Brooke tried to encourage me to help with her art club after school, but I made some excuse about needing to study chemistry harder because I'd bombed the last test. She seemed to take this matter to heart and asked if there was anything she could do to help. When I immediately snapped no, she was taken aback for a good two seconds before she recovered and then cheerily promised she'd see me tomorrow morning with my usual coffee.

I was cautiously optimistic. Maybe Brooke would shift her focus off the matter after all. She hadn't mentioned it to me all day, and it seemed like maybe Stiles had been right all along. He didn't understand why I was so surprised about the whole thing, though.

Sheriff had a long shift tonight. There was a fresh case that rolled in, and over the weekend there was a band in town that played at a bar and apparently there were numerous DUIs and public intoxication and assault charges pressed, along with quite a few new people staying in the holding cells. Something about the full moon gets the town riled up, he'd commented. I laughed a little too loudly at that one, and Stiles elbowed me.

So, long story short, here we were. Scott, Stiles and I were in the backyard. I'd been so on edge all day, the boys decided to chain me up. I think it only made it worse, personally. I _hate_ feeling confined.

"Ohhh, _this_ takes me back," I resentfully rambled, drawing a bewildered look from Stiles as Scott glanced down at his phone and then up at the moon.

"When could you have _possibly_ been in this situation before?" Stiles gave the thick chains a good tug and I shook my head and cackled darkly.

"Don't ask me, you don't wanna know."

"Well no, I do actually because you brought it up."

He was trying to distract me, I think. I huffed haughtily and a growl came from the back of my throat. "You think this is the first time someone chained me up?"

"You've had this— _why?_ "

"How do you think your dad and I met?"

Stiles blinked and then shook his head. "I don't follow. My dad chained you up?"

"No, no, no," I said, my voice slightly gravelly as I fought back the shift. My head ducked and I inhaled deeply, the chains squeezing around me tightly as I pushed them to see how much leeway they had. I threw my head back and restlessly shifted. "God, why am I like this? I've never been so—" I let out a vicious grunt and Scott pushed Stiles forward encouragingly.

"Hey, you know what would be good?" Stiles tried, leaning in front of me to try and catch my eye. "Let's hear the story of how you met my dad!"

I snarled loudly and Scott rushed forward to block me from standing. He pushed my shoulders down and I drew in a fast breath, glaring at him. "How do you _do_ it?"

"You have to find an anchor." He shook his head at me and I snapped that those didn't work for me. "What do you mean?" Scott frowned.

"I mean I used to have one, and it stopped working," I grumbled, writhing slightly as it felt like something terrible was coming straight for me and I needed to _act_. It's like a panic attack, but it's more anger and less panic. The overwhelming urgency to _do_ something was almost too much to bear.

"Well—that's not how they work." Scott shook his head and grabbed my shoulders. "Try it again! Focus!"

" _No_ —" I snarled up at him. "It's not gonna work, all right!? Just forget it!"

"Savannah," Stiles said from over Scott's shoulder. "Why not?"

"Because!"

"Because why?"

"Because he doesn't love me!" I finally screamed, stunning the both of them into silence. I hung my head and focused on breathing steadily, the feeling of my claws pinching my palms distinct. Stiles seemed completely dumbfound, but Scott quickly became uncomfortable.

Quietly, Scott took his leave and mumbled something about the shed as he went to go do something with it and Stiles stepped forward.

"Who?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I panted quietly for a few seconds, trying to gain the courage to say it. He pressed again, taking a step forward, and came up short when I snapped my head up to glare at him in warning. But there was a hidden sadness behind my movements, and I think my face shone with more than just sweat when I looked at him.

" _Rex_ ," I breathed, and Stiles tilted his ear towards me encouragingly. "Rex."

I hung my head again and Stiles closed the distance between us to push the hair off my face and lift my head so I was looking at him. "Rex? What does that mean?" His face was serious, imploring and confused. But mostly worried. The gentleness in his voice and hands said more than his question did, and it gave me the reassurance I needed to quietly respond.

"He's my nephew. I haven't… I haven't been there for him." My gaze fell even as Stiles cupped my face in his hands, absorbing this information as fast as he could. It had to be a shock for him.

"You have a nephew?"

I was about to respond when a voice came from the backdoor.

"Yoohoo!" Brooke's head popped out, and she scanned around the yard until she spotted Scott when he rushed out of the shed. "Scott?" She said at the same time he said her name in an equally confused tone.

"What are you doing here?" They chorused.

Brooke held up a floral binder. "Savannah! She said she failed her Chemistry test. I was just bringing her my notes—where is she?"

"It's after eleven," Scott said, rushing up the steps to distract her.

It snapped Stiles and I out of our stupor. He whirled back around to throw his hands out at me in question, while Brooke explained to Scott that she'd been busy with her art club until just about forty-five minutes ago. She'd honestly assumed that I would still be awake anyways, and she had some notes that she thought could help me.

As Scott distracted her, Stiles tried to help me stand. The chains made _way_ too much noise. I froze and Scott grabbed Brooke by the shoulders when she tried to turn towards the sound. Not even daring to breathe, I waited until Scott started physically pushing Brooke up the steps.

Stiles then helped haul me off the ground and I waddled towards the shed, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Scott suggested that they look for Stiles and me in his room and Brooke nearly dropped her binder in shock at what that implied.

She caught it at the last second, but a lot of her papers fell out. They flew down the steps and she gasped and turned to chase after them before Scott could stop her.

"Brooke, don't!"

She frowned and started to straighten so she could turn around, one of the papers clutched in her hands. "What?"

None of us moved for a comment. Scott's eyes flickered briefly back to us and Stiles waved his arms in some wild gesture that even I couldn't decipher. Scott looked back to Brooke, and, awkwardly, he mumbled that he would get them for her.

She scoffed and said she could handle it. Then she turned around, and Scott tried to leap in front of her. Stiles gestured wildly again and I finally realized what he was trying to say.

Scott's trying too hard. He's making a scene, and Brook is definitely catching on. I held my breath and watched as she squinted at him dubiously.

"Why you acting like that, sugar?"

Scott cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his head. "What? Acting like what?"

If I could have smacked my forehead, I would have. Thankfully Stiles had the same instinct, so it was almost as satisfying to hear his palm smack his. Unfortunately Brooke seemed to hear it, too. She turned around and caught sight of Stiles before Scott could stop her, though he did call her name out.

Brooke frowned at him and he immediately froze. "Wait—" She said, and then her eyes shifted and she caught sight of me.

My heart nearly burst in my chest in panic.

 _No. No, not like this!_

Her eyes flitted over the chains that bound me and the way Stiles almost seemed to step in front of me protectively. Her face shifted into horror and disbelief and the binder fell from her hands, papers scattering across the backyard in the breeze.

"What the hell is going on?" Brooke's voice was uncharacteristically outraged. She started towards me and I shook my head, stepping back as Stiles stepped forward to block me. "Savannah!"

I opened my mouth, but nothing came to mind.

"It's not what it looks like!" Scott exclaimed, which was such a cliché and typical thing to say in this scenario.

"And what does it look like?" Stiles unhelpfully asked. She gave him a dirty look and he hesitated, his tone shifting. "I mean, what—what does it look like to you?"

"It looks like Savannah is wrapped in _chains!"_ Brooke strode across the yard, stepping on some papers as she tramped forward. Scott didn't even try to stop her anymore.

At least not until she got closer. Then he called out Brooke's name and Stiles' hand flew towards me almost in instinct, as if he could stop what happened before it did.

But he couldn't. _I_ couldn't. I didn't even know it was happening! Not until Brooke froze in her tracks and gawked at me. "Wha—" She said, barely above a whisper. "What? What's wrong with your eyes… they're…"

My mouth popped open and I immediately squeezed them shut, ducking behind Stiles as he tucked me behind him.

"You're a… no." I could smell her disbelief, her adrenaline and shock as it permeated the air when it flooded her system as her mind finally caught up to her eyes. "You're—you're one of… Wait… What are you?"

No one budged, each of us reluctant to respond as Brooke suddenly turned to look around at all of us.

"Savannah," She demanded. "Tell me!"

* * *

 _ ***Insert gif of Deadpool gasping* SHITE.**_

 _ **It's getting real, guise. WHEEEEEEE WHAT NEXT XD**_

 _ **Ummm, I don't know what to say other than... stay tuned! Thank you for reading, and please leave a quick review before you go! :)**_


	55. Get Checked, Son

I couldn't speak. I could scarcely _move_ , and not because of the chains. One thing you should know about me: I hate when my lies catch up with me. I freeze, and it's like I just shut down. It doesn't happen very often. But when it does, well… it's never good. Either I run, or I completely shut down. And Brooke just made it all the more dramatic.

"I _knew_ it," She suddenly declared, her voice hysterical. "I knew it!"

"Brooke," Scott kept his voice low and calm and the total opposite of hers as she turned in circles in the yard. Her arms flapped around heatedly while she continued to explode.

"You don't eat!" She seethed, pointing a finger in my direction.

Stiles and I exchanged a confused glance, but Brooke just pushed on.

"Did you know that? You never eat anything I give you! I noticed it from the start! Something was up with you! Who doesn't eat? Even at lunch, when I came you'd stop eating, _if you ever did at all!_ And your reflexes! If someone spilled the water out of your cup you could catch it back before it hit the ground! Your reflexes are _insane!_ I knew _that_ from the minute you helped me with my banner! I bet you two have been covering for her, haven't you?"

"Brooke, it's not like that." Scott tried to corner her and used reassuring gestures and a grounded, rational tone, but she just spun around him like a firecracker going off.

"Yeah, it's—it's actually a sex thing," Stiles loudly interrupted, causing Brooke to whirl around and grow still for the first time.

"What?" I asked, staring dead at him. He hesitated, sputtering slightly as he glanced back at me and then over at Brooke and Scott.

He cleared his throat. "Role play?"

There was a brief moment of silence. I looked back at Brooke and she actually bent over a bit as she yelled, "Stop _lying!"_

Scott straightened with a sigh and grabbed Brooke's shoulder, but she shook him off and started towards the stairs. If I could've smacked Stiles' arm, I would have. As it was, he threw me a shameful shake of his head like he knew what I wanted to do and he accepted it, and I just sighed. Scott followed closely after Brooke, throwing out tiny excuses in an attempt to get her to slow down. Brooke almost didn't seem to listen, and she _definitely_ didn't care as she stomped up the steps. She stopped at the top and turned to point at me again, causing Scott to almost run into her back.

"I trusted you, Savannah. Why couldn't you trust me?" Her voice was smaller than it'd been in the last two minutes. It made me feel about _this_ big, as Stiles' hand pressed against the chains in my back in comfort. "And my notes are _really_ good. There are graphs and pictures and charts."

I couldn't help it. I snorted in surprise, the tone of the whole situation and her reaction to it all getting to me for a moment as I tried to bite back a laugh. She's still going to let me use her notes.

She shook her head at me, her eyes brimming with angry tears. "They're extremely detailed and I hope they help you pass your next test. You have broken my heart."

She turned to continue up the stairs and Scott stayed at the bottom.

"The truth," He finally called, his voice ringing out clear and strong over the yard. Brooke's hand froze on the handle of the back door, but she didn't turn to look at him as he continued. "You want the truth? I'll tell you, because I don't want you throwing yourself into this without a clue what you're getting into, and I know that's what you'll do. And you'll get hurt if you do that."

She slowly turned to look at him, and I gave Stiles a surprised frown. He didn't seem surprised at all, only slightly dreadful.

"We'll tell you the truth."

* * *

 _Cars passed on the busy street. Brakes squealed and wind blew. The pavement was wet and rainwater sloshed along the gutters and drains in the road as cabs and traffic passed. It was mid-afternoon, but the clouds in the sky were heavy._

 _On the sidewalk, people walked to and from wherever they went. I didn't know anymore. It seemed like everyone had somewhere to be these days._

 _Not me. I sat on the bench; head back, soaking up what little warmth poured through the clouds. It might not be much, and it won't last long, but I know I'll be wishing for it tonight when I'm huddled up and hungry._

 _All I had to my name lay beside me. A black fabric hooded jacket, two sizes too big. My jean vest was a size too big. My jeans were too tight. My shoes were too big. My hair was too long, but it was twisted up into a knot, and I knew I probably needed a shower. Or three._

 _People might have needed a seat, but for some reason, they wouldn't sit by me._

 _I snorted at that thought. Yeah, for_ some _reason. A car blasted its horn and I opened my eyes, looked to my left and jumped in fright._

 _"Oh," I breathed, blinking as my vision blurred slightly. My head was light and my thoughts slipped out like a house cat through an open storm door—quickly, and without permission. "I didn't see you there."_

 _A girl around my own age, possibly younger, with dark hair and small features sat beside me. She didn't respond and her fingers came up to her mouth, and I realized that she balanced a white cigarette between her fingers. A green band lined the tan filter._

 _"Menthols?" I asked._

 _She blinked at me. "You don't have to say it," She said. "Everyone thinks they're gross." She looked down to flick the ashes onto the wet cement._

 _"Actually, I was going to ask if you could spare one." I held my hand out and she looked down at my open palm. Her eyes flickered back up to me and I wiggled my fingers and my eyebrows. She smirked at this._

 _Reaching into the pocket of her emerald peacoat, she took out a pack of Kool cigarettes and shook one out to offer it._

 _I smiled at her and plucked it gleefully. "Thank you," I said as she started to pull away. "Could you spare another?"_

 _She paused and looked me over, and I smiled widely at her. Wordlessly, she looked down and pulled another out of her pack._

 _I put one in the pocket of my jean vest next to my bottle of pills and took out a lighter from my jeans. She watched as I lit it and blew the smoke in her direction. Her eyes squinted and I looked back at her._

 _The sounds of the street filled our silence, the wind blowing our smoke down the sidewalk and paper trash into puddles. "People don't usually sit beside me."_

 _She raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"_

 _"I'm homeless," I explained with a smirk, and she frowned at me._

 _"That doesn't matter."_

 _"To you, maybe." I dryly pursed my lips and she immediately looked regretful, gearing up to apologize. "I guess they're afraid it will catch."_

 _She paused, surprised at my words, and I took a drag of my cigarette to let the smoke swallow my smile. I left her to hang for another beat before blowing the smoke out and grinning at her._

 _She laughed in relief and nodded. "Oh," she said. "That was a joke."_

 _I shrugged a shoulder and she looked away._

 _"You got out of a car earlier."_

 _I raised an eyebrow at her and she opened her mouth and shrugged her shoulder. "I meant, you were waiting on the stoop at the dry cleaners on the corner, and then you got into a car, and then that car drove three blocks over and dropped you right down there."_

 _She pointed at the stoplight a few paces down. I followed her finger and stared at the light as it changed to yellow and a few cars bolted through just in the knick of time._

 _She witnessed a drug deal. That's how I get my drugs. I call my guy, get in his car, we exchange hands, and he drops me back over here. It's not the safest option, sure. But it's the only one that's worked so far._

 _I sniffed and fingered the side of my bun. "Yeah?"_

 _She blinked at my noncommittal response and seemed to take the hint, looking down at her cigarette._

 _"I think I've seen you around before."_

 _I looked back at her, eyebrows raised, and took another drag. Another car horn blared as the light changed and I flicked the ashes off my cigarette, smacking my dry lips without replying._

 _"At school, I mean," She continued, as if I had replied. "You usually go out to the courtyard."_

 _I sniffed and rubbed my nose, shifting in my seat._

 _"What's out there?"_

 _I sighed and rested my head back to close my eyes. "…Silence."_

 _She watched me. I didn't look to see, but I could feel her eyes on me as I sat there. "Oh," She finally said. "Is that your polite way of telling me to shut up?"_

 _I smirked and didn't budge._

 _"Because I hate the quiet. That's why I sat beside you." She sifted through a plastic bag, and my curiosity piqued, but I didn't open my eyes. "Eggroll?"_

 _I cracked an eye open and looked at her. Finally, I shook my head._

 _She shrugged. "Suit yourself. Anyways, I guess I'll leave you to your silence, then."_

 _I think she must have stood because suddenly the breeze wasn't blocked anymore and it grew a lot colder than before. When only the traffic noise filled my ears, I sat up and looked around. She stood in front of me._

 _"You're not as mean as people say you are."_

 _"Who says I'm mean?"_

 _"People do."_

 _"And you listen to them?"_

 _"I always listen."_

 _I squinted an eye at her. "Hmph."_

 _She looked down at her shoes. Or maybe she looked at mine. "It was nice talking for a change."_

 _"You're not bad to talk to." She smiled at the compliment and I rested my head back and closed my eyes. "You should do it more often. I bet you're pretty funny. I already know you're interesting."_

 _She shuffled her feet. "How do you know I don't talk much?"_

 _I lifted my head to squint a single eye at her, and she sighed._

 _"See?" She said. "You can learn a lot from listening."_

 _"You're kinda weird, too. Thanks for the cigarettes."_

 _"Thanks for the advice."_

 _"See ya around, boss."_

 _"Boss?"_

 _I didn't respond._

 _She frowned at me in confusion, shifted as she looked away, looked back, and shifted again. "Okay." She sighed. "Well, bye."_

 _I watched her walk down the sidewalk, her bright green peacoat flapping in the breeze slightly. She must have thought of something because she suddenly paused. "Hey, what's your name?"_

 _"People tell you I'm mean but they don't tell you my name?"_

 _She sheepishly shrugged, and I shook my head and cursed under my breath._

 _"My name is Savannah Carmichael, I'm homeless, I love to dance, I'm a member of Girl Scout Troop 47443, I like to smoke menthols, and people say I'm mean."_

 _She bubbled out a laugh. "All I asked for was your name!"_

 _"Yeah, but I'm so much more than that."_

 _This seemed to stun her into silence, and she pressed her lips together and slowly nodded._

* * *

Apparently Brooke and I had met before that day in Ms. Morrell's office. She knew me, even before I was a werewolf. While I was still on the streets. I'll get to that in a minute.

I never expected to tell Brooke. I'd always thought there was a chance, in the back of my mind, that somehow she would get tangled up in a dangerous situation and discover the truth about us _that_ way. Beyond that, I couldn't imagine just sitting her down and telling her. But as soon as Scott had said it, I knew he was right. She needed to hear it from us because one way or another she would find the truth. If we wanted her to be safe, then we had to tell her so we could protect her.

As we explained, Scott and Stiles were extremely cautious. Scott tried to break it slowly, easing her in, but then Stiles would make a blunt clarification when Scott tried too hard and ended up being vague. I mostly sat quietly, too surprised and distracted to feel angry, as I had been all night. Or all weekend, really.

Through it all, Brooke could barely glance at me. I felt terrible. Stiles sat close enough for our knees to touch, and it helped to know that he had my back, but I couldn't shake my relentless guilt over it all. She actually handled the supernatural part surprisingly well. At first she didn't quite want to let go of the vampire theory—she was so thoroughly convinced of it, it took the evidence of Scott's full wolf face to convince her.

Then her excitement came. She peppered us with questions. What does it mean? How does it work? How long has it been going on? What can we do? Does silver stop us? Is it possible for us to shift into a straight up wolf? What are our limits? Do we even have limits? What about the evidence she found? Was she right at all? About any of it?

By the end, I just _really_ wanted to curl up on the couch and watch television with Stiles until I passed out. Brooke watched them take the chains off me at around four in the morning, her arms crossed and face twisted into deep thoughts. Her mind seemed to be racing. I could tell because her foot was tapping and she stared intensely at me, which made me uncomfortable as I rubbed some feeling back into my arms.

As we started to go back inside, she wanted pull me aside for a moment to speak privately. We hung back in the yard as Stiles and Scott went ahead in.

Brooke really let me have it then. She didn't raise her voice, but then, she didn't need to. She was hurt, I could tell. It translated as anger, but I knew by what she was saying that she was actually hurt. She was mostly upset because she opened up to me and even let me come to her _house_. And did I know how much that actually meant? That simple gesture? She doesn't let people come over! She knows how it looks. She knows the way people would judge her if they knew. I met her _mom_. I met her freaking _nanny_. She thought I supported her, but really, all I was doing was checking her out to make sure she didn't know too much.

The worst part of it all, she said, is that I clearly felt like I couldn't tell her. She'd opened up to me and I knew some of her most privately guarded secrets, and I couldn't tell her what might be the single most important fact about me. I'm a werewolf. I let her believe _vampires_ were real. I let her make a fool of herself all week.

She doesn't blame me for all of it, of course, because I couldn't have stopped her from researching if I tried—not without telling her the truth about the supernatural, and she's processed it enough to realize how dangerous the truth really can be to her. But she just wished I hadn't lied. There were so many opportunities to tell her.

Then she really started laying it on thick. I'd had such an influence in her life, she said. Did I know that? Did I see that? I admitted that I had no freaking idea what she was talking about. Finally she brought up the day we met. I said, my break down in Morrell's office? Huh?

That's when she finally referenced the day on the street. She'd just come to Beacon Hills a few weeks before we met. She used to be home schooled before that. There were other kids she'd interacted with, sure, but mostly it was her and her nanny. She was admittedly not very close with her family. They just weren't the kind of family to be close.

So after extensive persuasion and an extremely convincing presentation that she gave her parents, she managed to get her way into the public school systems. And at first she was unsure of exactly what she'd subjected herself to. Her parents were unsympathetic. She'd asked for it, they said. This is what she wanted.

Kids at school were reluctant to welcome her at first. She found that having a voice in such a strange environment quickly became difficult. She had a lot to say, but it was hard. So she mostly kept to herself in the beginning. Until she met me.

What I said to her that day, she said, it stuck with her. I reminded her that a person is more than their name. More than what it looked like, than what people might say about you, because people will say _awful_ things. But that doesn't make them right. Brooke was afraid that when people learned her name, it would ruin what she wanted all along. Ruin what she had hoped to gain from public schools, from trying to experience life like any other teenager. My simplistic truth rattled her.

There I was, a homeless girl in the streets. Grossly misunderstood by the majority of our peers. She saw a glimpse into what real hardship looked like. It was a wake up call. After that she became involved. She found that having a voice was actually easy to do when she had actions to back it up. People started enjoying her for her loud and eccentric behavior. They welcomed it; _encouraged_ it. Followed her lead, even. She felt fearless, and brave. People turned to _her_ for ideas. She became more than just Brooklyn St. James. She rose above what her last name might have suggested. Or, at least, she made every effort to.

So that's why she focused her sights so intently on me. Actually… I have no memory of our first encounter. I have half a mind that she made it up, except I really did have a bench that I sat on, and I really did get in cars like that at one point. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I couldn't remember. Before we rejoined the others, she made me swear not to tell her mom that she smoked. It was her one vice. (I laughed at that.)

She left, and Scott left soon thereafter. Stiles and I pulled an all-nighter. We reflected on the night's events. Stiles was somewhat wary of Brooke knowing the truth. What if she tells someone?

I reassured him that she wouldn't. I couldn't think of a single person she'd want to tell. After all the rumors that she's started, all those theories she'd been tossing around—she's the girl who cried wolf. Pun slightly intended.

I couldn't believe the impression Brooke had of my days on the streets. She definitely viewed it with a bit of a skewed reality. The truth is, I was high out of my mind when we spoke. Who I was on the streets… that person… that's not me. Brooke met a girl who was so doped on painkillers that she couldn't remember how to get back to her spot she usually slept in. And whenever that happened, I'd go sit on that bench and wait to come down. I wasn't some sage, wise gypsy. I was a liar. And a thief, and a first-class-asshole when I wasn't high.

I'm not that person anymore. But I did still lie to her. She's right about that.

* * *

In the passing days, Brooke asked us questions as they came to her. Eventually she just caved and made a list. I'm a beta? What does that mean? I don't have an _alpha_ , right? So doesn't that make me an omega? You know who would make a _great_ alpha? Scott. He blushed at that.

The puns flooded our conversations. We could hardly get through fifteen minutes without Brooke tossing out as many dog/wolf jokes as she possibly could.

She admired how gracefully Stiles handled the whole situation. Scott laughed at the phrasing, particularly _graceful_. Inwardly, I couldn't help but agree, or at least see her point. Stiles really did have a lot of strength and loyalty to have accepted this new part of his friend's life. He told her to stop glorifying his role. Truthfully, he joked, he's in too deep now. And he lives vicariously through us, if he's totally honest.

I didn't buy that for a second. He seemed surprised when I reached for his hand in front of everyone. Brooke stopped being angry for a few seconds to fangirl, which made me start to let go of his hand, but Stiles wouldn't have it. It was a strange sensation to feel both humiliated and elated. Scott just grinned to himself.

At around Wednesday, it finally struck Brooke that she might know more than two werewolves. How many others are there?

She was less than shocked to find out that _Miguel_ was actually Derek Hale, and Peter was his uncle. No relation to Stiles at all. When we revealed that Isaac, Boyd and Erica were all betas as well, Brooke just about fainted.

For the rest of the week, Brooke had somewhat of an existential crisis. How could she not have known? She thought she knew everything. Christ on a bike, she _bragged_ about knowing everything to us! Multiple times! _Yeah_ , we laughed. _She did_.

In the midst of all this, Scott and I became study partners. I introduced him to new books about the wild, and it was admittedly my clever way of teasing him at first for the trashy romance novel he'd been reading. But then it became a legitimate bonding experience for us. We both struggled with classes, and we had such similar schedules, we decided it just made sense to become study partners.

On Friday I made a passing joke about Brooke being even more in love with Scott since she discovered what he is. He returned in kind with a shockingly accurate, well-aimed joke about me being in love with Stiles. I shut up. I mean, I'm not in love with him, right? That's ridiculous. I just… You know what? Whatever.

* * *

 ** _A short chapter. But I wanted to wrap this month up! We can proceed into May... The month of finals. (Bum, bum, bummm!)_**

 ** _So, Brooke knows! She's still got a lot to learn, but she finally knows. Hallelujah, right? XD It'll be interesting to see what these kids have in store for us next month! Thank you guys for your continued support._**

 ** _More to follow shortly!_**


	56. Charity Costume Paloooooooza!

**_So, one of you has pointed out that they felt like maybe they kindasortadon'tlikeBrookewhenshe'snosy. XD I wanted to say that that's okay! I know it's just the nosy part of her. I know you guys think she's funny, but man. That nosy part of her, right? It's probably kind of annoying? And I just wanted to say that I know that! I did that on purpose because... I think without it Brooke might have been too Mary-Sueish. I need there to be some parts of her that are unappealing, you know? She can't be some rich, religious, super-involved girl who's just completely smitten kitten with Savannah & Co. You know? She's gotta have flaws! Brooke's flaws are her nosiness, and her persistence and in some ways her loud, in-your-face nature._**

 ** _I love her character. I made her with my friend, like I mentioned before, and when I was fine-tuning her characteristics, I kind of pictured this... Rich, Robin Williams kind of girl. In the sense that Brooke is sort of a class clown. But she's also secretly really lonely, and you'd probably never guess that about her if she didn't tell you herself or invite you into her life. You see what I'm saying? Her nosiness is annoying, definitely. But it's necessary. :D I hope that makes sense!_**

 ** _We're into the second month of this now! It's officially May. Since Brooke knows, I'll sort of shift my focus from that. You'll see._**

 ** _Also! Before we begin... I'm tempted to bump this up to an M rating. I mean, nothing ACTUALLY happens here. But I do cuss (like a shit ton) and there's been some violent themes... But up to now we haven't had much in the way of anything overtly sexual. Sorry that this might spoil some stuff for the chapter. Don't get too excited, no one has sex. But... you know, it's a possibility in the future. I don't think I'll actually write in the down-and-dirty sex scenes, but since it's happening... I dunno. What do you guys think? M rating? Leave a review and let me know!_**

 ** _Thanks for reading! :)_**

* * *

The jeep took the corner so suddenly that we had to throw our hands up and brace ourselves. Brooke wasn't so fortunate—she tumbled across the backseat with a loud yelp.

"Heads up!" Stiles called, and I peeked over the side to look down at Brooke.

She was halfway off the seat and I helped drag her upright. "There should be _seat belts_ back here!" The tattered dirty white sleeve of her dress fell over her elbow as she tilted her head back and pinched her nose, the blood streaming down her chin.

As Stiles said something about the age of the jeep, I tried to bat her hand off her nose. "Don't do that," I said, and she hissed at me through her hand. Drunk Brooke is a crabby Brooke. I tried not to laugh as I put my hands up and said, "That's just going to make it worse! The blood will—"

She suddenly choked and lurched forward, spitting something out onto the floor of the jeep. Turning to glance between the road and the back seat, Stiles lifted and then sat, and lifted again, and said, "Wha—what are you doing? Brooke, are you throwing up? Don't—"

"She's just spitting her blood out," I dismissed, and Stiles' eyes nearly popped out of his head as he really threatened to turn away from the road and climb in the back seat. I reached out and shoved him back down, snapping at him to face forward before he wrecks us.

"Brooke, tilt your head forward!" I instructed, and she let out a string of nonsensical curses at me. Her black wig slid across the seat and tumbled into her lap, and in a fit of frustration she snatched it up and threw it at my head. I ducked and it hit the window, and Stiles slammed the brakes on the jeep as he pulled up at a red light.

The force of the stop caused the wig to fly into my lap as Brooke continued on her rant. Suddenly, she lurched forward again and there was the distinct noise of retching followed by the disgusting sound of something wet splattering onto the floor.

"No!" Stiles cried, and I tried to keep him from jumping over the seat. I dragged him back by the elbow and he let me. "No, God! We were so close! You couldn't have held it in!?"

As a reply, she heaved again. Stiles groaned loudly and I huffed at the whole situation. I reached over to roll the window down, hoping that some of the stench would ventilate out as Stiles pulled away from the light. "So, note to self." I looked over at Stiles and he calmed slightly as he looked at me. "No more scary movies."

"Hey—" His hand cut through the air and he shrugged at me. "Whoa. Whoa, there. Let's not be rash—"

"Look what happens!" I pointed in the back seat and Stiles sighed and teetered his head noncommittally.

"No, you know what needs to happen?" He pointed over his shoulder at Brooke, who had been moaning for the past minute or so. "We need to set some boundaries! That's what needs to happen!"

Brooke breathed in deeply and started to moan again, though this time it was more croaking and less voice. Stiles stiffened and I reached back to bat at her, and Brooke burst into giggles, breaking off with a painful hiss when she accidentally brushed her nose.

"I'm gonna pick the movie next time." I gave Stiles a flat stare and he immediately nodded his head.

"Just make all of our life decisions for me from this night forward."

"That would be best," I easily agreed, and Stiles and I let that sit for a moment before we both grinned widely. Brooke suddenly interjected that she would be perfectly willing to make our life's decisions for us. Stiles rolled his eyes and I pinched my nose.

* * *

 **Earlier That Night**

"We have the entire night to ourselves. No Sheriff, no Scott, no Brooke or homework or projects... You're sure _this_ is what you want to do?"

Stiles and I stood in the kitchen. He had a movie case in his hand that he shook pointedly. "Trust me," He said. "This thing is going to give you nightmares. Like horrible, scarring, phobia-inducing, childhood ruining nightmares."

"Okay," I sighed, tilting my head. He paused and looked me over.

"You don't want to," He realized.

"No," I quickly shook my head. "I want to! I want to watch this—" I broke off and took the movie from him, looking over the cover. "The Ring. Let's watch it! Come on!"

Stiles didn't move as I tugged him by the hand and tried to drag him to the living room. He stayed rooted in place, his face a slight pout and shoulders slumped. "You don't have to do that."

I frowned incredulously and turned to throw him a bewildered look. "What?"

He sighed and shook his head to himself. "I get it, I mean, we watch movies all the time. You were hoping to do more tonight, right?"

"Stiles," I sighed heavily and he watched me with an air of disappointment. "You want me to be honest?"

He immediately nodded.

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and crossed my arms, feeling slightly uncomfortable but forcing myself to speak anyways. "Honestly—I don't care. I don't care what you have planned. We could be watching the grass grow, or forced to watch golf with your dad again." I felt his eyes on me but I didn't dare look as I continued, feeling intensely uncomfortable with this confession. "Or doing homework. Or, listening to Mr. Harris talk about—covalent bonds sharing one or more pair of electrons—"

"Hey, that's right!" Stiles cheerily interjected, a hint of amusement in his words. He had started to creep towards me as I spoke and when I looked back and saw the huge proud grin on his face, I couldn't fight my own back.

"I know." I grinned as his hand slid behind my waist and I wrapped an arm around his neck. "Brooke's notes were really detailed."

"Mhm." He pulled me closer and I tried to mention something about Scott and I using condiments at lunch to help explain chemical reactions, but my words stuck in my throat when he pressed his lips to mine sweetly.

A fire, warm and wild, swept across me as he kissed me. No one has kissed me like this before. Every other time, it's just lips sliding across lips. Fun, but simple. Physical.

With Stiles, it's different. I can _feel_ every inch of him like it's shocking me back to life, and nothing in this world matters more than this. Like he was drawing something out of me with soft, slow little jabs of his chin, and I thought my heart was going to beat through my chest and I couldn't get close enough to him.

Overwhelmed, I broke away suddenly and he just followed me, pressing a quick kiss against the corner of my mouth. He pushed me forward as I backed away, one hand sliding down to grip at the small of my back and the other disappearing in my hair. I let the movie drop to the ground with a clatter and my back hit the wall. He pushed me against it and I broke away again. "Stiles," I tried, but it came out more breathy and ragged than I'd thought it would and only seemed to spur him on.

He groaned slightly, his body having a physical reaction as he hooked my legs over his hips and pressed me tightly against the wall. I gasped as his hand slid under my shirt and he took advantage of that to deepen the kiss.

Finally I just gave up entirely on trying to speak. I threw everything I had at him, my fingers raking down his back and causing him to arch into me slightly. His hand drew a slight whimper from me when it tightened against my ribs and his thumb accidentally brushed the edge of my bra.

We both froze at the action, breaking apart to pant. Stiles pressed his forehead against mine and his breath slightly stirred the hair that had fallen in my face. I grabbed him by the back of the neck to pull him back down but stopped myself at the last minute.

"If we don't stop," I started, and when he nodded ours noses brushed.

"I know." He pressed a kiss to my cheek and then my jaw, and I let my fingers slide back into his hair and pressed against him as his lips planted spots of fire down my neck.

 _Ugh_. "Stiles," I managed, and he grinned against my neck when I basically clawed at his back and he hummed, which only made it worse. "You shouldn't—" He did it again, but this time he nipped at the hypersensitive skin, and I lost it.

I grasped the back of his head and tugged his face up to crash my lips to his. Teasingly, he started to pull away and laughed when I growled and pushed off the wall to pounce on him. He kept his hands gripping the back of my thighs but unwrapped my legs from his hips, slowly lowering me until I stood on my own to feet. I tugged him against me until there was no space between us and he and only encouraged me as I attacked him.

I was pleasantly surprised when Stiles didn't seem to have any issues with my tugging his shirt off and flinging it behind him. He continued to pepper my neck with kisses as I tried to concentrate on peeling my own shirt off, his hands sliding up my hips and onto my ribs to chase the hem as it disappeared.

It fluttered to the ground and he wrapped his arms around me. I sighed at the feeling of his skin against mine. He suddenly froze when I pressed my lips back to his, and I growled playfully and hooked my fingers through his belt loops to pull him even closer to me.

"Wait," He said, as I turned the tables on him and kissed from the corner of his mouth to his jaw. "Savannah—" He broke off, his breath catching in his throat as I pressed my lips to his neck and gently sucked. " _Oh_ , man," he groaned, and I could tell just how much it effected him when he suddenly backed his hips off me and pulled away.

I snorted out a laugh as he pressed his fists on either side of the wall around me, his head ducked. Grinning, I felt a laugh bubbling my chest as I tried to grab him by the face and make him look at me. For some reason, it brought me great joy to know how intensely I was able to effect him. "What's the matter, Stiles?" I teased, and he made a funny squeak. "Someone getting stage fright?"

He snorted. "Shut up," His fist bumped the wall and he shook his head. "And _definitely_ not. Definitely not stage fright."

He threw his head back and groaned miserably and I grabbed him by the back of the neck to bring him closer, prodding his side as he tried to hold me off. "So what's the problem?"

He sighed loudly through his nose and finally looked down at me, his face heated. "I don't have anything."

For a moment I didn't follow him. And then, involuntarily, my gaze briefly dropped and I had to swallow another giddy laugh as I gently grabbed the side of his face and ran my thumb over his freshly healed cheekbone, though a few residual marks still remained. "Oh," I breathed, and he nodded, his eyes dropping to my lips. "That's okay."

He sighed at me and seemed relieved that I didn't mind. "I'm sorry," He turned his face into my hand and pressed a kiss against my palm, and I couldn't help but smile, letting my other hand smooth across his back. "I'm gonna go to the store and just clean them out."

"Well, you can't tonight," I reminded, tilting my head. "It was past ten when we got back from the video store."

His head dropped and I laughed as he buried his face in my shoulder. "Gas station," He mumbled, and I turned to nuzzle my nose against his hair, my eyes falling closed when the smell of him washed over me like a calming wave.

Where the heat in my body was sizzling before, now it had simmered down to a warm glow, and I sighed happily. "Your hair is growing out," I noted, and he paused at the subject change.

"Yeah," He said, and lifted his head to look at me. When he realized how close I was, he stopped with our faces just inches apart, our noses almost touching again. His eyes flickered across my face. "I have an appointment scheduled next week to get it buzzed."

" _No_." My fingers tensed against his chest and his eyebrows shot up.

"What?" He pulled away slightly with his hand running across the back of my arm as I smoothed my hand over the top of his hair. "You like it?"

I bit my lip and nodded, unable to look at him as I admired his thickening hair. "It looks darker, too."

"That's just how it gets when it's longer."

Wordlessly, I hummed and just took a moment to enjoy the feeling of his fingers tickling my stomach. He seemed to enjoy the involuntary spasms that it made every time he lightly brushed across it, and I couldn't help the laugh that choked out of me as I trapped his hand flat against it.

He leaned forward to kiss me again and I felt the hairs on my arms rise in exhilaration. This has been so nice, so perfect, but I had that same creeping sensation that it wouldn't last. I fought it back as he pulled away and tried to suggest going topless for the rest of the night. You know, the shirts have been on the floor now, they're probably dirty, and… I laughed.

He sighed as we finally stepped away from the wall and I reached down to grab his shirt. When I straightened, the smile had fallen from my face. I thumbed the fabric uncertainly and Stiles asked what was wrong.

I shook my head. He stepped forward and brushed my hair over my shoulder, asking again. "I just…" I frowned. "I like you, Stiles."

He seemed slightly confused because the tone of my voice and the words I said were conflicting. "Well… good…"

I looked at him, trying not to get upset, and he reached up to grab my cheek.

"Hey," He frowned now, drawing me close again. I let my hand slide around his back and closed my eyes as he spoke. "Savannah, I like you, too. Like, a lot. So much," he rambled, in the way that only he could. It coaxed a smile out of me, even if it was tinged with sadness. "What? Why do you look like I'm giving you bad news?"

"No, you're not, it's—I'm just—" I looked up at him, and the open, honest affection I found was enough to make me shut up. I felt my doubts ebb away as I replayed what he said in my mind and tightened my arm around him. "Like, a lot?" I quoted, and a smile played at his lips as he nodded.

"Too much." He took his shirt from my hand behind his back and pulled away to turn it around until he grasped the hem. I thoughtfully ran my thumb over my bottom lip and watched, my mind aching to ask the question I've been wondering for the past two weeks. To finally voice the thoughts I've been having.

So I did, as he tugged his shirt over his head. "Does it scare you?" I blurted.

Stiles paused in his movements, his arms in the air. He pushed his elbow out to fully pull the shirt over himself, and looked at me questioningly. "What?"

I glanced away and crossed my arms. "I mean, I like you a lot, but… it scares me. Does it scare you?"

Stiles' mouth slowly closed and he pressed his lips together tightly. I felt like I was waiting at the edge of a cliff, waiting to see whether or not I would fall, or if something would save me. "No," He finally said, and I deflated. "I'm not scared of it because I'm not going anywhere. Are you?"

Immediately I shook my head. I got the sense that his words were meant to reassure me. They did, and I didn't feel like I was any less happy or passionate or like I felt any less towards him as he put his arm around my shoulders and pressed a tender kiss to the side of my head. But there was just this feeling of foreboding that I couldn't seem to shake.

Stiles cares about me just as much as I care about him; I know it. I can feel it. I can see it in the way he comforts me and stands by me when I mess up, or in the fact that he's my biggest cheerleader. He's coaxed the good in me out again. He recognized it even all those months ago, probably around the same time he realized I was getting sweatpants for Isaac. And yet he doesn't experience _this_ —this whispering doubt in the back of his mind like I do. He doesn't have that creeping suspicion that seems to sprout from nowhere at the most inconvenient times. So maybe his feelings are just more pure. More healthy than mine are. Maybe he's able to care for people without the fear of them rejecting him, because there's no reason to reject him.

As the movie started and I settled into his side, my shirt returned to my body where it belonged, it hit me. I've got a lot of skeletons in my closet. And every time I start to feel too happy, they kick up a fuss, and remind me that if he ever finds out the truth about me, it'll change everything.

I knocked that thought back into its box and locked it up as Stiles slid his arm behind me and I rested my head against his chest. It doesn't matter now. We're here, and he cares about me just as much as I care about him. And that's what counts.

* * *

Turns out the movie was fucking terrifying. I wasn't expecting it, to be totally honest with you. The last time I was scared of a movie, it was Stephen King's _It,_ and I don't care who you are: if you've seen that movie and walked away unscathed, you're unnatural. But this? The entire premise made no sense.

A haunted video that kills teenagers in seven days. Stupid. But the images that are portrayed, along with the noises—it sucked me in. It was impossible to look away, and Stiles and I grew more and more tense with every surprising, horrible, nightmarish thing that happened. When it went off we tried to play it cool, but we were definitely wound tightly like the strings of a guitar.

"It's not even realistic," I tried, glancing around at all the dark corners in the house. I mean, who knew there were so many dark corners in this freaking house?! "A girl in a well?" I snorted, and Stiles echoed my snort weakly.

"Yeah, it's—ridiculous, and terrifying."

"It's completely disturbing," I gushed, and after a pause he told me to go take the DVD out. "Me? You want _me_ to go get it out?"

Stiles gave me a weird look. "Yeah, what's the deal? It's—" He broke off with a smirk. "It's not going to _haunt_ you, Savannah. Just go get the DVD."

I scoffed and nodded stubbornly. " _Please_. I know that. You go get it."

He paused to frown at me. "No. You go get it."

"No, you."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Go get the DVD!"

"You go—"

I broke off, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway catching my attention, and I held a hand up to Stiles when he tried to continue. My eyes flickered back to him. "Someone is here."

"What?" Stiles leaned back on the couch to look at the clock. One in the morning. "Dad's shift isn't over for another five hours."

I got up to go peek out the window. A blue car sat in the driveway. Stretching my hearing, I caught the familiar tinkle of a laugh, followed by a lower voice, and then another laugh. I let the curtain fall and turned back to cross my arms at him. "That's because it isn't your dad."

"Well then who is it?"

"Brooke," I said, watching the door and waiting. "And some guy." I heard the car door shut as Stiles exclaimed.

"What does she want!?"

It was _our_ night. Scott was busy working, Sheriff was taking a late shift, Brooke was _supposed_ to be hosting a party or something at someone else's house—how she managed that I'll never know.

I shrugged at him. "Hell if I know."

"She really needs to start calling," He muttered, annoyed. I reminded him that I didn't have a cellphone and she didn't have his number, and Stiles moodily grumbled under his breath and said something about getting some more popcorn. He got up to wander to the kitchen and I looked back at the door with my eyebrow raised.

She really should have come to the door by now. I peeked out the curtain, but I didn't see anything in the driveway or the yard. The car had left. Sighing heavily, I went to the front door.

When I pulled it open, the sight of a stumbling figure with long black hair that completely covered its face greeted me, its arms out as it seemed to feel through the air like it couldn't see. Instinctively, I punched.

The figure went down with a loud cry and I realized a few things in the ensuing seconds.

One—that figure was Brooke. Two—I'd just punched Brooke. Three—Brooke was dressed _just_ like the character from the Ring. Four—she was writhing on the ground.

I dropped to my knees and immediately started apologizing.

"Wha—what was that for?" She sobbed, pulling pathetically the black hair of her wig to try and clear it from her face (and failing) as she sputtered.

"Oh, Brooke." I tried not to laugh. Really. I did. "What the hell are you doing!?"

"I'm drunk!" She exclaimed, and then the blood came. Once it started, it was like it couldn't stop. It rushed out of her nose and she choked slightly and patted her face obliviously, sniffing loudly and only hurting herself more. "Owww! That sort of hurrrrts!"

"Well don't do that," I scolded, pushing her hand away to try and part the wig so I could get a better look at the damage. She blinked deliriously, hardly able to sit up straight as she incoherently babbled.

" _Holy_ crap!" Stiles exclaimed from over my shoulder.

Brooke cheered happily at his appearance and tried to wave at him, but I smacked her hand down and grabbed her chin, turning her to the left and right as I assessed the damage. It was definitely broken. She's going to be pissed.

"Okay," I started, and then grabbed her under her flopping arms as she tried to lie on the ground. "Let's get to the kitchen."

"The kitchen?" Stiles asked, shoving his way out of the front door to join me. He ducked out of Brooke's reach when she tried to touch his face with her bloodied hand, grimacing at her appearance. "Is she—dressed like—"

"Yeah," I quickly confirmed, struggling to keep her standing upright as she swayed and nasally complained about her nose aching.

"And, so you punched her?" He concluded, giving me that _you know how stupid that was, right_ , tone and expression of his. I sighed heavily and Brooke cried out in surprise.

"Savannah, you _punched_ me? Is that why my nose feels like it's got glass inside?"

"I'm sorry," I frowned, snatching the wig from her head. Her hair was tied up in a knot at the base of her neck and the makeup on her face was starting to fade with sweat. Her chin and nose was coated in blood, as well as the majority of her neck and a disturbing amount of her dress. "Brooke, why did you dress like this?"

"Oh, it was for charity," She sloppily explained, gripping my upper arms like I gripped her. "Charity Costume Palooooooza!"

I sighed and rolled my eyes as Stiles pointed out that it was the beginning of _May_ , not October.

She gasped. "That's right! It _is_. Oh, my god," She swayed to the side and I held her upright. "Summer is next month!"

"I have to set her nose." I looked at Stiles and ignored Brooke as she continued to rejoice over the fact that the school year was drawing to a close. "Help me get her to the kitchen."

"No," Stiles took her other arm and gestured for me to mirror him as he put it over his shoulder. "We need to get her to the hospital."

She immediately went limp, fighting against us like a toddler. "Noooooo!"

I sighed and gave Stiles a frustrated glare. "She's going to fight us every step of the way!"

"Well that's too bad," He snapped, directly at Brooke, who was wailing that she hated hospitals.

"Stiles, come on!" I shifted Brooke's weight. "I've set bones thousands of times before; ask Isaac, I'm an expert!"

"I want _her_ to fix my nose," Brooke interjected. "Savannah, there's no one in this world that I trust more than you! Except for Justin Bieber. And Francis. And Abena, and my hairdresser and Barack Obama. But you're a close second!"

Stiles and I looked at her strangely. "What?" We chorused.

"JB is my king," She sighed. "I Belieb. _Shhhh_ , that's a secret!"

I snarled a lip at her in distaste and Stiles rolled his eyes. "Justin Bieber is a twerp," I said, and Brooke gasped and grew quiet.

"Take that back."

I raised my eyebrows at her and Stiles seemed to knowingly accept it as Brooke quickly devolved and suddenly fought us with all she had. Her mood dwindled from stupidly happy, to stupidly mad. She tried to curse at us, but it just mostly came out as gibberish. It became increasingly apparent that I would not be setting her nose tonight. Not without making it worse.

So we loaded her up in the jeep, threw her wig at her, and after about fifteen minutes of driving, Brooke threw up in the back seat when we pulled to a stop at a red light.

As we continued on to the hospital, we debated which of us would go in to warn Melissa, slash see if she would cover for us since Brooke is drunk. I kept Brooke entertained (it was pathetically easy) until Stiles came back with good and bad news. The good news was, Melissa would help us. The bad news was, she wouldn't cover for Brooke.

But she needed help, and we were already here. So we just took her in anyways, and it was this whole thing. Her parents were called. Her dad came. I was surprised to find that he was actually very nice and understanding, and the police officer that had been called seemed to know him through his business and was willing to look the other way in exchange for a complimentary weekend getaway—but then he saw Stiles. Who, you know, is the _Sheriff's_ _son_. It wasn't until Stiles reassured him that he didn't want Sheriff knowing about any of this either that the police officer finally agreed to let her off with a 'scold' talking to.

So, Brooke's father pulled me aside to introduce himself. He turned out to be really nice. He was extremely personable, and I found the entire family dynamic to be that much stranger as I thought back to the way her mother had acted. It would be interesting to see them all in a room together.

Stiles disappeared for a bit, but by the time we were ready to leave and Brooke had been fitted for a mask to help her nose heal, he had reappeared. I braced myself for Brooke to yell at me.

She strolled right up to me, grabbed me by the shoulders, and leaned in. "I'm Batman," She whisper-growled, and then erupted in giggles. I raised my eyebrows at Stiles and her dad over her shoulder, tilting my head at her as she continued to laugh and pointed at the white splint on her nose. "Get it?"

I sighed and patted her back as her dad took her by the arm. He thanked us, apologized that we met under these circumstances, and then left. I turned back to Stiles with my hands up in a shrug.

"She's going to be so angry when she wakes up tomorrow," He pointed out, and I waved him off.

"She'll be too hung over." I wagged my finger at him. "But Monday… Monday I might not go to school."

He snorted and then we turned to leave. Melissa told us we did the right thing by bringing her in, and also to keep out of trouble as we passed her station. We saluted her at the same time. It was one of those moments when you realize you've been spending way too much time with a person. But then Stiles just shrugged it off with a laugh and put his hand on my back to guide me out to the parking lot.

I was wondering aloud what we should do for the remainder of the night, and Stiles suggested that we just go to sleep.

As we got into the jeep, I sighed and shook my head. "I'm sorry," I said, and Stiles frowned at me in question. "I feel like that whole thing just ruined the night. And your jeep smells like peach schnapps."

He shrugged a shoulder even as he rolled down his window. "Really? I'm getting more of a melon vibe," He paused and seemed to mull it over. "Definite undertones of shrimp."

"Oh my god," I snorted, shoving his shoulder. "That's fucking nasty!"

He snickered, shrinking away as he grinned at me. "Seriously though, it's not your fault. Don't worry about it—don't even think about it. I know I won't, not until tomorrow morning."

I gave him a funny look. "You're gonna leave that there overnight?"

He fixed me with a dry expression, one hand resting on the steering wheel. "Do _you_ want to clean it out tonight?"

"…Point taken," I lamented, and he nodded knowingly, winking at me.

"Yep." He started the jeep and we started home with the windows down. I reached over and took his hand, lacing my fingers through his, and he smiled over at me. I sighed and then suddenly thought of something.

"Hey, where did you go earlier?"

He shifted. "What do you mean?"

I frowned as his grip tightened and he covered it by playing with my fingers. "Earlier, in the hospital? When Brooke's dad pulled me aside? You left for a bit."

"Well, yeah, I left to give you guys some privacy," He smoothly said, focusing on the road.

My eyes narrowed. "Okay, but where did you _go?"_

He scoffed and shrugged a shoulder at me. "What—what's with the third degree?"

"Why are you dodging the question?" I countered, and he paused for a moment.

"Well I just went and got something to drink from the vending machines."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, my tone lighter than before. He cautiously nodded and I licked my lips. "Where's it at?"

"Huh?" He glanced at me and shifted again.

I nodded at him. "The water you got from the vending machine. What happened to it?"

"Oh, I drank it," He nodded, clearing his throat. "Why, did you want some? I'm sorry."

I finally gave him a face that said, _Oh, come on,_ and he sighed loudly.

"Okay!" He cried, tugging his hand free as he drove. "Alright, alright. I—I got _this_ ," He shifted in his seat and pulled out a small square from his pocket. I frowned until I finally realized it was a condom.

" _Where_ the hell did you find that?"

He quickly shoved it back into his pocket and took the wheel with both hands, apparently somewhat flustered. "At the hospital, it doesn't matter. I just—" He sighed heavily and shook his head. "If we're—you know, gonna do this, I need to know that I'm prepared."

Cautiously, I asked, "If we're gonna do what?"

"Be together."

Immediately, I softened, my heart soaring at that single phrase. "Oh."

He sighed and sank slightly. "Yeah."

We rode in silence for a few seconds, until I reached over to take his hand from the steering wheel again. After I got calmed down enough from my elation that he'd definitely just confirmed we were together, I thought about Brooke, and about her family and how she must be doing right about now. I wondered what her mother would say. I wondered if Melissa would say anything to Sheriff, or if Sheriff would even care at all. I tried to imagine how the next encounter I have with Brooke would go, but no matter how hard I tried I came up blank.

I didn't expect her to handle the supernatural thing as well as she did. I _never_ expected to see her drunk, or to show up dressed in a costume for _charity_. Dressed as the villain in the horror movie I'd just watched, no less! I thought she was supposed to be a staunch Catholic? And she was drinking? But then I guess she smokes, too. She's just a very complicated individual. She's hard to nail down. All I really know is she distracts people with her overbearing nature, and she seems to take great pleasure in knowing a lot of stuff about a lot of people.

I never expected to come so close to having sex with Stiles so soon. I never expected him to be so eager about it, while also being so responsible with it. And I certainly never expected to care about him so much, or to depend on him as thoroughly as I do. It scares me, definitely. Because he doesn't know the truth, and I can't imagine him reacting well to my past, and I don't know how I'll ever tell him. In fact, if I'm totally honest with myself I know I can't. I'm nowhere near strong enough for that. I'm way too selfish to risk losing him. Not like that.

As if he was reading my thoughts, he asked me a question then. A question I wasn't ready to answer, and I chickened out.

"Savannah," He started, and I turned back to him.

"Yeah?"

He sighed. "I've just—something has been driving me crazy all week."

I frowned. "About what?"

"About something you said during the night of the full moon."

My face blanked. "Okay…"

He looked at me and almost seemed to lose his courage, but I felt guilty so I took his hand in both of mine and he must have decided to bite the bullet anyways. "Rex," He blurted. "Your nephew. I mean—you have a _nephew?_ "

I sighed and suddenly I wanted to withdraw my hands from him. I looked down at my lap, staring at the contours of his fingers and the veins in his wrists and forearm. "I messed up with him, Stiles. I burnt that bridge a few months ago, before we even really knew each other." I paused, reflecting on the last encounter I'd had with Rex, as well as the time I tried to call him and it went straight to voicemail. "He left, and I—" I closed my eyes and shook my head. "I think I just need to let him go."

Stiles shifted, his hand turning in mine slightly. "Well, but I didn't even know your brother had a kid. Wha—how old is he? Where did he go, you said he left? What—" He paused. "What about your brother?"

I shut down at that point, letting go of his hand to shrink away and look out the window so I didn't have to face him. "He's gone." My voice was hard and definitive, and Stiles' hand grabbed my thigh.

"Who? Rex? Or your brother?"

" _Both_ , don't you get it?" I looked at Stiles, my anger flaring in my defensive state. He seemed surprised, and just as careful about the topic as I was, cautiously glancing at me as he drove. His hand sat comfortingly atop my thigh and I sighed heavily. "They're in my past now. I have to look forward. I can't—" I ran a hand over my hair and set my jaw. "I can't let them drag me down."

It's not how I felt. It isn't at all how I felt. I wanted nothing more than to try and reconnect with Rex, but I knew that was wrong. I would give anything to see Jack again—to see his face light up with a laugh. But I knew that was impossible. So I did the same thing I always did. I spat out my venomous emotions with biting words and I switched it around until I seemed hostile and unfeeling.

Stiles' hand didn't draw away as I'd expected. He didn't reach for my hand, but he didn't withdraw. He didn't pursue the topic anymore, but I couldn't help but feel like it hadn't necessarily been dropped, either. He just set his jaw and kept quiet, his eyes focused out the windshield. He didn't like it, that's for sure.

And I kept that wall up. There are some things that I've broken in my life that are just irreparable. To try and fix them wouldn't be kind or… _good_. It would be bad. Rex is better off without me in his life. That's just the way it has to be.


	57. Return of the Jackson

**_So I'll probably be out of town for the next few days! I'm not sure the next chance I'll have to update. I just thought I'd let you guys know in advance._**

 ** _A short chapter for you! But there's this one thing that happens near the end... sort of a big deal. You'll see. Anyway, I listened to The Black Keys' album Brother as I wrote this one, so that's why I reference it! They're great. I would love to learn to dance like the guy in their video for Lonely Boy; it makes me crack up every time I watch it. You want to smile, go watch that video. :)_**

 ** _If you're new, Welcome! If you've been around for a while, Welcome back and thank you for sticking with this! Either way, Enjoy!_**

* * *

Jackson is back in school. I found out when I was heading into my scheduled meeting with Morrell, and as I flipped through some magazines in the waiting room, I almost fell out of my chair when he emerged from her office.

We froze when we looked at each other. He scowled at me, closed the door, and stalked away like nothing had happened. I stared at the spot he disappeared from for a good thirty seconds, slowly processing my shock. It wasn't until Ms. Morrell had poked her head out that I snapped back to attention.

I prodded her for information, which she didn't care for. He's going through some stuff, she said. And that was all she would say. It wasn't much to go on. So I rushed through the rest of the meeting, even as she took a moment at the end to say how proud she was of my progress and how satisfied it made her to see me happy. Uncomfortable with the unsolicited praise, I squirmed until she was finished and then burst out of office and nearly bowled straight into Stiles, who had been waiting outside for me as per usual.

"Jacksonisbackandhe'sgoingtotherapywithMorrell," I breathed in a rush, bursting at the seams with excitement to be the one to break it to him.

He blinked at me as he absorbed the information and turned the words over more slowly in his mind. "What?"

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off.

"You saw Jackson?! Where? When? How did he look? How was he acting?"

"Normal," I replied, and he drew in an amazed breath and turned away slightly as he tried to imagine it. "I was about to head in, and then he stepped out of her office and I almost passed out. He was a complete dick. You know, that silent, contemptuous look that just says _fuck you for existing_."

"Yeah, I'm familiar with his work," He absently nodded. His eyes flicked back to me and he raised his eyebrows as I stepped to the side so we could continue to lunch. "How many people do you think have found out?"

"Oh, I'd say this whole hallway and everyone in their phones by now," I said, my eyes on the hall. Everyone was whispering about it. It was all they could talk about. Jackson was at the end of the hall, grabbing his books out of his locker while Lydia lounged smugly beside him and soaked up the attention like a cat laying the sun. Everyone around him was looking at them, but as soon as he shut his locker and started down the hall they all turned away and started whispering furiously to each other.

I looked back at Stiles as he took the scene in. "Do you think he's going to try to take my parking spot?" He asked—or more like whined.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you going to let him?"

Stiles blinked. "Well—he gets here at six in the morning to work out, though… It's obnoxious."

I scrunched my face. "So get here earlier."

"You're saying you'd wake up that early just so I could park closer to school?"

I shrugged a shoulder and started down the hall. "If it's that important to you. Plus, there's only three weeks of school left before summer anyways."

He followed after me and immediately grabbed my hand, pouting a smart lip at me. "Aww, babe! That was the sweetest thing you've ever said to me! If I wasn't a such a huge prude about pubic displays of affection, I'd kiss you so hard right now."

"Fortunately I don't have that problem," I said, tugging him by the collar to press a kiss to his cheek before he could comment, and he flashed me a dopey grin when I pulled away. "Also, don't call me babe."

"Baby?" He tried, and I made a disgusted face and shook my head as hard as I could. "Honey pie."

I gagged. "Oh, my god, stop."

He was about to continue when Brooke apparated beside us. "Listen, guys, I ship it, but don't rub it in." She paused and I stopped in my tracks when she grabbed my other hand. "Only I can call Savannah babe, by the way."

I burst out laughing and tugged my hand out of hers as Stiles grinned secretively, because he knew there wasn't a chance in hell I'd let anyone give me a pet name any time soon. If Stiles couldn't do it, she certainly couldn't.

Brooke just grinned good-naturedly and fluttered her hand around the hall. "Listen to these children," She practically cooed. "They're aflutter!"

"You sound like one of those try-hard guidance counselors that only exist in Glee and Bob's Burgers. And Freaks and Geeks. And Awkward."

"And basically every televised version of high school known to man," Stiles quickly summarized, and I smirked as Brooke paused and then frowned incredulously at us.

"Ugh! Thank you!"

Stiles and I exchanged a strange glance as she started to lead the way to lunch.

"Come!" She practically sang. "I want to hear what people have to say about Jackson's return."

"Hey," Stiles suddenly said, apparently thinking of something. He clamped his mouth shut when Brooke turned around and glanced at me. I could tell that he wanted to say something, but apparently he decided it was a bad idea just as soon as he'd thought of it, because he stammered out that her nose looked like it was healing well.

Brooke patted at the tape across her bruised nose like she had forgotten. "My dad said you guys helped me out." She seemed slightly embarrassed as she focused on the ground, or the lockers as she started backing away.

"Yeah, maybe just call next time before you come," Stiles lightly suggested, and Brooke immediately nodded.

"Savannah, you should get a phone."

I sighed. "Trust me, I know."

Stiles fixed me with a thoughtful look as Brooke suddenly changed the subject again, talking about the charity palooza or whatever it was she'd put on. When she turned around to walk like a normal person, Stiles leaned in.

"Does she know about Jackson?"

I looked up at him with my eyebrows scrunched. "I didn't say anything."

He seemed to sigh in relief. "Good. I just think she's going to be dying to talk about him being back. People would expect it from her; it would be weird if she didn't."

I nodded and we both abruptly stopped talking as Brooke came back towards us and leaned in. "What are we whispering about?"

"Your tag is sticking out," I said, and pretended to reach around her neck to tuck it into her shirt. I gave her back a pat and she thanked me loudly before disappearing through the cafeteria doors. Stiles and I shared a dreadful glance and then finally took the plunge in.

Scott was waiting for us at the usual table. He seemed relieved to see us, and immediately blurted that Jackson was back. We consecutively turned to see Jackson's table, which had been rearranged for the past month to fill his spot in his absence. He had returned as if he'd never gone.

Stiles looked away first. "Why is no one talking about the fact that Greenberg is finally back from juvy?"

"He went to juvy?" Scott and I chorused.

"No, he was in rehab," Brooke corrected, her finger in the air.

Stiles sighed at her and picked up his cheeseburger. "Who invited you?" He muttered, but she either didn't hear him or pretended not to as she pulled out five baggies and deposited one onto his tray first, then mine and presented Scott's with a flourish.

"I made cookies!" She announced.

Stiles perked up and I watched in amusement as he turned his bag over and dumped his cookie on his tray.

"They're oatmeal coconut," She happily continued, and Stiles froze mid-bite.

I bit back a laugh as he reluctantly followed through, barely masking his distaste as he continued. Scott kindly said that they looked good, and when he went to take a bite, Stiles batted it out of his hand.

We all turned to look at him and he stayed still for a moment before he finally reached over to pick the cookie off the table. "You should be training for lacrosse. That means no cookies, you have to keep slim."

It was a weak excuse. "In that case," I said, coming to his rescue as I plucked the two cookies from his hands. "You shouldn't be eating them, either."

Stiles deflated slightly and Brooke waved us all off. "No, no, no. They're gluten and sugar free."

I raised my eyebrows and cleared my throat, subtly knocking one of them against the table. It immediately started to crumble, and I smiled tightly at her. "Is coconut your substitute?"

"Yes," She gushed, her eyes wide. "How did you know?"

"You can really sink your teeth into that meaty coconut flesh," Stiles commented, picking at his teeth. I set the cookies down with barely masked aversion and Brooke seemed dejected.

"They're disgusting," She lamented.

"Nooo," Scott tried, giving Stiles a scolding look. I blinked and laid my napkin over them, thinking a subject change in order.

"I'm sure they're great, what about that, uhh…" I rubbed at my nose and Stiles sat up.

"How about that Barack Obama?" He baited, and Brooke latched on. "He's quite a guy, that dude. Right everybody?"

"I don't want to seem dramatic, but the fate of our friendship rests on how you respond to the question I'm about to ask."

Stiles, Scott and I exchanged a dreadful glance. "Okay…" I said.

"Are any of you Mitt Romney fans? Because if so—"

"Hey, wow. What's going on over there?" I pointed over her shoulder and she tried to see what I was pointing at.

"What?" She said. "I don't see anything."

"Right there!"

"Where?"

"At that table! See it?"

"No! What?"

"There it goes again!"

"What, whaaat?"

I hid a grin by grabbing some yogurt, shaking my head at Scott as he fought back a laugh.

Brooke turned back around. "Do you mean—" She broke off when she saw me eating and then looked to Stiles and Scott, who busted out laughing. Stiles just shook his head with a knowing grin, and I took a satisfied bite. "Oh, okay. I get it," She laughed. "Very funny."

* * *

"Now you're just somebody that I used to knowwww! Somebodyyy. Somebody!" Brooke pointed at me from her seat in the car, and I sighed and turned the CD cover over in my hands. "Take it away, Savannah!" She cried, and I opened the CD case to take out the lyrics.

"I think you're singing it wrong."

She sighed dramatically and reached over to turn the radio down, flipping down the visor to block the sun. "What? No way."

I flipped through the pages and found the song that she'd been singing. "Oh, no. Those are the right lyrics."

"Yeah."

"I guess it's supposed to sound that way."

She snorted. "Well what sort of music do _you_ like?"

I flipped the little booklet shut and stuck it back in its case. "Why are you taking me shopping, again?"

"Savannah," She whined, and I looked at her with wide eyes, mildly annoyed. She pouted at me and I shrugged at her.

" _What?"_

"Come on! Why won't you at least _try_ to have fun?"

I glanced back at the windshield, my face disbelieving. "I only asked you a question! And you basically kidnapped me—you _really_ should stop just showing up like that, by the way."

"What kind of music do you like?" She lowly keened, as if it was the single most important question in the world.

I laughed at how dramatic she was, and she grudgingly lightened up. "I don't know, I guess I haven't really thought about it. Why?"

She sighed and shook her head. "You're so hard to pin down."

"I like… drums," I tried, and she gave me a flat look. "I like when they're… a big part of the song."

"Okaayy…" She said, as if I should elaborate. "Like what? What are you thinking of specifically?"

"The Black Keys."

She smacked the steering wheel and accidentally jerked the wheel, drawing a loud yelp from me as she nearly ran into a speed limit sign.

"Brooke, please, I really don't want to be pulled over today."

She waved me off. "I've never been pulled over! Besides, we're about to stop here."

I tried to follow her vague gesture, but we were fast approaching a strip mall. I frowned when I realized that it wasn't a true mall. I'd been expecting to pull into a high-end shopping mall, but the lot we pulled into had cracked pavement.

The sidewalk that lined the shops had the occasional weed sprouting out, and most of the windows were less than polished. Over all, the parking lot was just under half full, with the majority of them concentrated at a thrift store.

"Did you need directions?" I asked, and Brooke giggled.

"No! This is the place I was telling you about. Come on!"

She turned the car off and grabbed her purse, hopping out into the sun. I sighed and followed slowly after her. When I got out, Brooke was impatiently waving her hand and standing a few feet away already.

"Come onnnn," She grumbled, and I took my time getting to her. As soon as I was in reach she latched onto my arm and dragged me at a brisk pace. "This is the best place to find deals!"

"Deals?"

"Yeah, my parents don't really give me money for clothes," She admitted, holding the door open for me.

I pursed my lips in surprise. "Seriously?"

"Oh, yeah, my mom _hates_ the way I dress." Brooke waved attentively at the girl who greeted us. I looked over her bright outfit from behind, keeping my comment to myself as she continued. "Around the same time I got this," She pointed to the green streak in her hair. "My mom cut me off from any money if clothes were concerned."

Brooke paused to look me over.

"Hey, Stiles has a shirt just like that. I saw him wear it last week."

I looked down at the brown shirt and thumbed it, a small involuntary smile on my face. "Oh yeah?"

Her chin shot up and she squinted at me from down her nose.

"What?" I asked, glancing away.

"You said the thing."

"What thing?" I snorted.

"The thing, that thing you say when you're pretending not to know something."

I shrugged at her and she scoffed and rolled her eyes at me, swatting my shoulder.

"Oh yeah," She mocked, making her voice overly raspy, and I pursed my lips unhappily.

"I don't sound—" I broke off and cleared my throat. "I—" I sighed and pretended to be interested in something on a rack. "How about this?"

"That's for men," She said. _So's my shirt._ "You sure you want that?"

I shrugged a noncommittal shoulder. "Whatever."

"It's only seventy cents because it has a blue tag," She noted, pulling the sleeve out to look it over. Honestly, I'd not really looked at it. It's just so easy to distract her. It was a simple black t-shirt at first glance, but when we pulled it off the hanger, Brooke said, "Yes."

I smirked and bit my lip. "You think?"

She nodded vehemently. "Oh, yes."

It was a black jersey with the number eighty-eight and the name Wolf written above it. I had no idea what it was in reference to, but it didn't matter. She passed me the hanger and I folded it over my arm. As soon as her hands were free, she was flipping through more shirts.

She'd pick some for herself, and pass me a couple as well. Usually they were either something she thought would pair really nicely with something else she saw across the store already, or it was another werewolf pun.

Once I'd gotten used to being a store to actually shop, I found that it was fun. I'd gone into this whole thing expecting to be toted around from designer store to designer store, forced to put on uncomfortable scratchy material in ensembles that I didn't understand. But Brooke kept mine muted if she picked something for me, and as we parted ways in the store, we both sort of did our own thing.

I picked a lot of denim and patterns. It's been a while since I felt like I could really just let loose and just be picky over clothes. For so long, I've had to take it as it comes, but Brooke insisted on paying and I had at least a little cash to throw in for dinner, and she gets to choose where we eat. So I don't feel too bad. Especially since nothing in here costs more than four dollars.

When we reconvened, Brooke asked to see everything I'd gotten. In comparison to her stack, it might as well have all been black and white. But Brooke really seemed to enjoy my picks. She even offered to trade a few with me because she thought I'd pull it off better—however that works. Brooke's about a thousand times smaller than I am, but whatever. She specifically emphasized an army print jacket and practically cooed that she loved when I wore green. I think she's biased towards the color myself, but… I did really like the jacket, so it's fine.

Her favorite choices of mine were the short overalls and cropped sleeveless turtleneck. She also picked a pair high-waisted shorts for me, citing the numerous crop tops I'd been drawn to. Those were the highlights of the things I got; I won't list every single garment, because trust me, there was more.

So, fashion show over, we went to a frozen yogurt place to start and then swung back by a coffee shop she knew that doubled as a music store. Brooke skipped—yes, _skipped_ —over to the case of CDs and bent over to start looking through the rock section.

"Hmmm." She slurped at her drink. I stood on the other side of the case and flipped through some records. Mostly I was feeling nostalgic, since my dad used to say records were the best way to listen to music. It's not like I had anything to play them.

I sighed wistfully at the Frank Sinatra collection they had. Brooke practically threw a CD case at my head, and I caught it at the last second. I threw her a dirty look and she shrugged innocently at me, her iced coffee rattling.

"I knew you'd catch it!"

I rolled my eyes and she waved me off.

"Oh, don't be such a grump. Look what it is!"

She'd found a Black Keys album. Brothers. I smirked and rolled my eyes again as she started singing a completely ridiculous, totally made up song about black keys, and brass keys, and gold and silver keys.

I shook the cover at her. "It's referencing the black keys on a piano," I winked, and she abruptly stopped singing.

"Ohhh," she nodded. "Hm. It's not as fun." She quickly came to join me and looked over the back. "We should listen to it on the drive back!"

I shrugged a shoulder and she gave me a push, making me give her an annoyed expression.

"How come you're only ever playful with Stiles?"

I scoffed and scrunched my eyebrows at her. "What? What are you talking about? I'm not playful with Stiles."

She barked out a laugh and suddenly jumped away. "Okay," she lowly patronized, and I narrowed my eyes at her. She smirked and shook her head as I looked down at the CD. I sighed and noted that it was getting late.

I nodded to the person behind the counter, who stood with his cheek in his hand and watched us even as we started to move to the door _because_ he was watching us. "I hate feeling rushed like that," I muttered, and Brooke loudly agreed as she went to pay.

I secretly smiled at her bold attitude as she turned to wave sweetly at the guy and told him to have a nice night. He sighed and grumbled to himself, and she pulled me close to whisper at me as we left. "That's you, everyday."

I just chuckled, which wasn't really what she'd been aiming for, I think. She gave me a strange look and I shrugged, unaffected. "When you're right, you're right."

She rolled her eyes and climbed into the driver's side of the car. "Play that funky music, white girl!"

I paused to frown at her and she blinked at me for a moment before she scoffed and then waved me off.

"Okay, white _boy,_ sheesh."

I burst out laughing and she grinned as I finally tore my claw down the plastic to peel it off.

"That's equally useful and disturbing," She blandly stated. I mockingly pursed my lips at her and then flipped her off, making sure that my claw was out as I did so.

"Agreed," I smirked, and she laughed.

* * *

The house was quiet. Truthfully, it's impossible for me to follow Sheriff's schedule anymore, so I just stopped trying. He's not here, that much is clear. I had to leave the front door open because my hands were full with bags, so it let cool air blow into the living room. The crickets were kicking up quite the fuss outside. Stiles sat at the couch and I think I knew the moment that I stepped inside that something was off.

All I know is I opened the door, and my heart jumped in my throat at what I found. Stiles turned to look at me. On the coffee table, flipped open, was my journal.


	58. A Likely Story

_**Hi! I'm back! Lol, I'm so sorry for leaving you guys hanging like that, but it had to be done. This chapter... *Sigh* I hope you guys like it. It's different than what you'd expect, probably. But that's what I was going for. Enjoy!**_

* * *

You walked in and said, "I've got some news  
I didn't say all I wanted to  
You know I told you that I wasn't scared. Well, I lied."  
You told me, "Babe I only think of you."  
And I said, "All I've got is a bunch of sad stories."  
And I told them all before the night was through  
And we cried, oh, but we're here now  
And I'm trying hard to make you love me, but I don't wanna try too hard  
And I'm trying hard to take it lightly, but we're here now

Those four walls now are the only place that I can breathe out  
And those four walls now are home  
Those four walls now are the only place that I can feel  
Those four walls now are home

\- _Four Walls, by Broods_

* * *

Stiles seemed to want to stand. Almost instinctively, he reached his hand over the couch as if to grab me and stop me as I turned to the door.

"Savannah," He said, his voice a strange mixture of emotions. He was clearly upset, but there was an underlying sharp note of anger that I wasn't expecting to hear. "Where are you going?"

I moved around the bags on the ground without replying. Each step I took was slow, deliberate, but my muscles were tense as if ready to bolt at the first chance. It took every shred of willpower I had, but I put one foot in front of the other. One more. Dodge the bag. Another. Lift my hand; grab the door.

"Savannah! _Don't!_ " Stiles sounded desperate now. "You can't just run away from me!"

The driveway was empty. Brooke had left without my noticing. The cool night air washed over me as I heard Stiles moving around the side of the couch, and then I closed the door.

He froze behind me. His heart was racing even faster than mine. I could smell the anxiety and sadness rolling off of him, the fear and concern. And an overwhelming sense of relief gripped me because—I couldn't detect outrage. No disgust; I could sense no contempt anywhere in his body.

I felt like my private most thoughts had been ripped open and I was stunned. But by the same token, I was strangely accepting.

"You didn't—what are you—why…" Stiles couldn't even seem to string together a coherent sentence. I closed my eyes and grew extremely still, my back still to him. However miraculous it is that he hasn't decided to throw me out on my ass, it doesn't mean that he won't change his mind. I couldn't face him as I asked the question my mind has been screaming.

"How much did you see?" My voice was tight and my fear was evident in it, as it trembled and seemed smaller than I'd heard it in years. Stiles' heart jumped at the unfamiliar tone and he moved a step forward and then abruptly stopped himself.

"…All of it."

My head ducked and I squeezed my eyes shut. "I'm sorry," I whispered, because I was.

His hand brushed my shoulder and it was too much. I flinched away and he didn't try to touch me again, but I could feel him behind me. He was so close, I could feel his heat and it's like his emotions that I could sense were infecting me. An overpowering feeling of sorrow made it impossible to keep my eyes open as he said, "Why are you apologizing?"

"Because… because I'm not the person you thought I was." My lips trembled and my heart clenched painfully in my chest, like Stiles had reached his hand inside and squeezed. My eyes burned, so I pressed the heels of my hands against them; it was the only way for me to force out the words that I needed to say. "I tried so hard for you."

His arms came around me and I couldn't hold it in. I sagged slightly and desperately grabbed his hand that gripped me around my waist, the other crossed over my chest and to grip my shoulder, and he held me together as I crumpled under the weight of it all.

"I'm sorry," I shook my head and he said that I didn't need to apologize to him. "I can't change it. I can't change any of it."

"I would never ask that of you, Savannah," He said, sounding angry now. "Is that who you think I am?" He stepped away and I looked up in surprise, slightly unfocused from my own crushing guilt. "You think I'm the kind of guy who would ever ask you to change?"

I glanced away with a bitter scoff. "Stiles, I'm _not_ a good person."

He shook his head. "You don't get to make that call!"

"You _read_ that journal, Stiles!" I threw my finger in the general direction of the couch. "You saw what was in it!"

"Yeah, I did," He admitted, his eyebrows raised as he touched his chest and took a challenging step forward. "Can we talk about that? Let's address that. I _read_ your _journal_."

He paused as if I should have some type of reaction to that. When I only stared at him, he threw his hands up.

"Savannah, stop painting me like I'm this perfect, flawless prince charming!"

I blinked in surprise.

He waved his hands through the air as he continued. "I'm not perfect! I make the wrong choices, and I know they're wrong, and I do them anyways!" His finger pointed back at my journal. "First example! I wanted to know more about you. No, I _needed_ to know more about you. When you told me you had a nephew, I had all these questions. I tried to break them to you slowly, but you wouldn't even answer the most basic ones. So I went looking for answers, and—I would have found them at any cost. Even if I had to read your journal." He stepped forward and patted his chest. "I can't _let_ stuff go. When I catch a clue it's like I can't function until I know the truth. It's _unhealthy_. I'm just like my dad in that way, except he can learn to let things go. I can't _do_ that."

I suddenly had to cover my mouth as he started to continue, but when he saw it he broke off and blinked at me. "What?" I shook my head and he moved forward. "Were you listening to any of that?" He asked, his head tilted in grim amusement as I tried to refuse answering him.

I cleared my throat and wiped my hand down my face, discarding of any trace of amusement. "No, I was, and you're right about part of it. It's just…" I sighed and shook my head. "Did you really think that I wrote that journal for _me?"_

This took him by surprise. He blinked dumbly, as if my words wouldn't quite process in his mind. He shifted and tilted his ear to me as if silently asking me to clarify or repeat myself.

I looked down and cleared my throat uncomfortably. "It was never meant to be for me. I… I knew that I would never be able to tell you the truth about me. About what I've done, and who I am. It was—" I rolled my eyes to the ceiling to look away, feeling extremely uncomfortable at finally revealing this. "It was always meant for you to read."

He grew quiet, his gaze falling to the floor. I could see his mind whirling with questions, even as he was processing this news.

I scoffed miserably and shook my head. "Stiles, I know exactly who you are. You can't surprise me or make me think less of you for being exactly who I already know you are."

Stiles' eyebrows lifted dryly. "I was going to say the same thing."

I frowned at him, my anger flaring. " _Stop_ that."

"What?" He challenged, and I stepped back from him.

"Stop writing off who I am like I'm no worse than you!" I cut my hand through the air and roughly shook my head. And, for the first time in my life, I spoke the words aloud before I could even think twice about it. "I _killed_ him."

Stiles looked grim as the revelation hung between us. It had finally been addressed—and I think this is what I've been afraid of the whole time. Every time we would get close, that creeping dread that would steal away my happiness? This is why. This moment, as he looked at me with unfathomable sadness and a heavy regret of his own, like he wished just as much as I did that it wasn't true. He nodded. "You pushed him over the cliff. But I don't think you meant to."

My temper flared. "God _damn it,_ Stiles!" I shoved around him and thrust my fingers into my hair. "Why are you doing this!?"

"What?" He exclaimed, as if I was being unreasonable. "I'm not going to turn my back on you after everything we've been through!" He shook his head at me. "Why are you trying so hard to make me walk away?"

"Because it doesn't make sense," I snapped. He looked surprised as I continued. "I know you! You have this instinct not to trust people, Stiles. And you're _right_. You didn't trust Matt. You didn't trust Jackson." I shook my head. "You shouldn't trust me!"

"Well, too bad!" He finally exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "I do! I trust you! You're just going to have to accept that, because I'm not going anywhere."

" _Why?"_ I asked, finally getting down to the bitter point of this whole issue.

"Because I _know_ why you shut people out, Savannah! I figured that out a long time ago. You think everyone in your life has abandoned you, which means you must not be worth wanting, so instead of watching people walk away from you, you shut them out. You don't give them the chance to even try to get close enough to hurt you like that anymore."

Stiles had pried the mask back. He hit a nerve that I had forgotten was even there, and I knew this was the point of no return. Without even realizing it, I had let him too close. Since he couldn't seem to do it, I knew I should be the one to turn my back and walk away. And a few months ago, I'd have bolted straight out the door without a second glance. Everything in my character said that I should have done so by now. But the truth is, I'm too selfish for that.

I couldn't shut him out if I wanted to. He saw everything now, and he didn't even flinch as he reached for my face and looked me straight in the eye. I felt that uncertain intensity I only felt when our eyes connected and he didn't look away or hesitate. I reached up to grab his hand where it cupped my cheek, and he told me it was okay. I felt my throat tightening as he repeated it to me again, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself _feel_ it without drugs there to numb the pain.

As I finally snapped and the feelings hit me full force, Stiles grabbed me and held me against his chest, stroking my back soothingly as I finally broke and sobbed against him. When my knees gave out at the intensity of it, he practically carried me to his room. He sat me down on the bed and sat beside me, telling me that it was okay to let go if I wanted to. I can't remember the last time I cried so hard, the torrent of emotions in my chest almost too much to process. I was floored by his acceptance, and afraid that it wouldn't last. That it couldn't be real. That none of it made sense, and yet, he held me against him like I was the most fragile thing he'd ever touched.

And then, just to be thorough, I started telling him everything. After I started I couldn't stop. I told him the part I left out of the journal. He knew that I'd fled to the cliff after the judge told me I was supposed to stay in that foster home for four more years, ready to just end it all. And Jack showed up. He'd followed me from the courthouse. I didn't trust Jack anymore at that point in my life. He'd told me so many lies, so many half-truths about what happened to our parents, about where he was working and how he was making enough money to afford his own apartment and new clothes. And he was always ready with an excuse as to why I couldn't be with him. He always made it seem like it would just be a little bit longer until he was ready, but that day, I realized he would never be ready. I was waiting for something that would never happen.

I would have to accept that I was on my own. Jack couldn't help me. The courts wouldn't help me. So I had to help myself. I could see my life headed straight for a crash and I was powerless to stop it—until I realized that I wasn't. I realized I had control over my life the whole time. If I wanted the pain to stop, the hopelessness to fade, if I wanted to stop feeling afraid so much, all I had to do was take control and end it.

And I was ready. Whatever the consequences would be, I was ready for it to just finally be over. So I could get some rest. So I could breath for half a second without it hurting, without the weight of the world on my chest. And then Jack stole that from me. He showed up, at the last minute, intending to take my choice away again. I acted without thinking. I lashed out. And I pushed too far.

The part that I left out of the journal was that I couldn't remember anything else from that night. It scared me. How could I have just forgotten everything after that?

"You don't remember what happened to Jack?" Stiles asked, his interest piquing.

"No, I do remember. I pushed him over the edge of the cliff," I said, shaking my head. "I just don't remember—" It was almost too much for me to say. I pulled away from Stiles faced the wall. He hovered just behind me, not touching me, but giving me space. "I have no idea why the police couldn't find his body."

"What?" He cautiously breathed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean—I can't remember," My voice broke and I ducked my head as tears burned my eyes and my heart accelerated in fear. "I don't know what I did, Stiles. I don't know what I did to him."

He reached out to grab my arm and I started to pull away, but then he murmured that it was okay and wiped the tears off my cheek. I turned my face away from him and shook my head, my throat tight and strained.

"Why are you doing this?" I croaked. "Aren't you listening to me? I'm _disgusting!_ I—I killed my own brother! You shouldn't be _near_ me!"

Stiles hesitated, his thumb running across my cheek, and I finally realized that he appeared doubtful. Like he knew something I didn't. I pulled away, eyeing him cautiously.

"What?" I asked, and Stiles looked down at his legs with a sigh. "Stiles, what?"

He ran a hand over his growing hair. "I just—I don't know if you actually killed him."

My heart jumped in my chest, and when it slammed back down I felt myself hardening. "What are you talking about."

He turned to me, his eyes sparking with an unspoken, almost undetectable excitement. "Months ago, my dad told me that they never found Jack's body."

I scooted away from him slightly, and he pressed on.

"Savannah, they're still considering your brother a missing person. His case is still open."

"Stiles," I said, my voice hard. "Don't do this."

"Why not? Savannah, I think you might be remembering it differently!"

I stood from the bed and stepped away and he rose with me, quickly moving to finish his thought before I shut it down entirely.

"I know you pushed him off the cliff. But what if he didn't die? What if he lived?"

"Stiles, you weren't _there!_ You didn't see it! You didn't see the blood, or the way he was lying across the rocks—his back was broken!" I said, feeling sick even as I said it, and my harsh words drew Stiles to a full stop as he stood, shocked at my outburst. I softened a bit and clenched my jaw, shaking my head. "I appreciate that you're trying so hard to see the good in me. But I know what I am, Stiles. I know what I saw. There's no walking away from that."

He watched me as I sighed and rubbed my face, keeping still. The tension in the room reluctantly settled back to a hesitant quiet, and I sighed again. "Okay. If you don't want to talk about it tonight, I can understand that," Stiles said, and I bit my back my frustration as I turned to him.

"I want to talk about it, Stiles," I frowned. "I _need_ to. I need you to know everything about me. No more secrets," I said, and he seemed pleasantly surprised. "I can't let you care about me as much as you do without telling you the truth. It would feel like a lie, and I—" I broke off and looked away. "I couldn't ever lie to you. Not anymore."

My words seemed to have a large impact on him. He went to sit on the bed and patted beside him, and I hesitated.

"I mean it. I'm telling you everything. And after I'm done, I need you to be totally honest with me. If it's too much for you, I need you to tell me. Because I'm still strong enough to walk away from this. For you, I'll walk away. But if we get through this and you decide that it's not enough to change your mind, I don't think I'll be able to let you go."

It was the most intimate and honest thing I'd ever said to him, and I somehow managed to get through it without looking away. He seemed surprised at the intensity, and he admitted something of his own to me then. "The other night you asked me if I was afraid of—this," He gestured between us and I drew to my full height, bracing myself for whatever he might say as I nodded. "And at the time I remember that I didn't understand what you were asking. I didn't get it. Not until after I read your journal, and when you found me reading it and started to leave." He nodded and I felt goose bumps race down my arms as what he said sank in.

"Then I finally realized what you were talking about. I had just read about the worst thing you've ever done, and it was—murdering someone who you loved without meaning to. And I realized how much I can relate to it." He looked down at his lap, squirming slightly. "In some ways, I feel similarly about my mom."

I didn't move an inch. He'd never spoken to me about his mom before. Never. And I'm the last person on Earth who has the right to pry about shit like dead family members, so I never even tried to ask.

"And then to see you run away—like you always do when people start getting too close to the truth—I was _terrified_ of losing you. Over something like butting my nose into somewhere it didn't belong in the first place. But what scared me even more was the fact that I knew what you did and it didn't stop me. According to you, you killed your brother, and that should have stopped me cold in my tracks. But all I could think about was how—" He looked away, his eyes sad.

"How suddenly the way you used to act made so much more sense. And how much that had to suck, to have to live with that kind of guilt, and I just wanted to make it okay for you. If what you wrote in your journal is true I shouldn't feel that way, and to be clear I think there's a good chance that there's more to that night than what you remember." He pressed on before I could comment. "I kept waiting for my morals to kick in, to make me see you differently, to make me stop feeling so—" He sighed and shook his head. "But they never showed up. You're more important than that." He looked up at me, his eyes blank and masking his emotions. His mouth gave him away though. The way it was tightened, and he rolled his jaw and pushed his tongue against his cheek, peeking at me from the side. "I've never felt that way about someone. And that scares me."

"It scares me, too," I admitted, and for a moment we let the truth lay open between us, staring at each other. It was a good moment. A light that gave me hope in the midst of what should have been a disastrous discovery. Despite my history, Stiles has chosen to see the good in me. I have nothing left to hide from him. He thinks I'm enough.

For the first time in my life, I wanted to believe him. I'm not there yet—and I doubt that I ever will be, but the fact that he's got me entertaining the idea is logic defying. I opened my mouth and told him the rest of it, too. How I remember waking up in the ambulance, my leg totally fucked up, my life totally fucked up, completely panicked and broken, and before I could even stifle my screams of horror, they'd stuck a needle in my arm and I drifted off.

The next time I woke, doctors were asking me who I was. They wanted to know what happened. If I could remember anything. Could I remember my name? Yes. Could I remember my parents' number? Yes. Not that it mattered. When they found out I was an orphan, could I remember the name or number of my foster parent? No. Is there anyone else they needed to contact? No.

So they called Sheriff. I think he might have come to see me, but they had me on so many painkillers, everything from the ensuing week is little more than a blur. I could recall snippets here and there. Images of nurses and doctors. A cup of water with a straw pushed in my face. Breathing through a tube as hard as I could for a test of some kind. Never in my life had I wished I were dead as much as I did in that week.

I'm pretty sure I begged people to just kill me. So they kept me for a while after that, on suicide watch. I hallucinated my brother a few times after waking up from nightmares about that night a few times, but I was too afraid to tell anyone about it, so I kept that to myself. I went through some physical therapy—enough to get me walking around again.

Eventually, they had to release me. They needed the space. I was pushed out on the streets with some prescriptions, and I remember the Sheriff trying to keep in contact with me for some reason. I was supposed to return to my foster home, but after that, I just stuck to the streets.

And the rest is history. I cried when I told Stiles about my parents, and he teared up when I spoke about how much I missed them. I told him things I hadn't even admitted to myself in years. I allowed myself the pain of remembering them, because Stiles was there to help me through it. And he did.

"What about your nephew?" He asked, and I sighed heavily. "What about Rex?"

"I think he's better off without me," I admitted. "After what I did to his dad?"

Stiles' face grew frustrated. "Savannah, I'm telling you, I really think if you let me—"

"No," I shook my head at him. "Stiles, listen to me. I know it's hard for you to stop when you think you've got a theory. But this is one thing I'm asking you to let go. You have to let this go. _Please_. Just, help me move on from it."

It seemed to grate against every fiber in his being, but he somehow managed to keep his mouth shut and simply pulled me against him. I sighed and he kissed the top of my head, and we spent the rest of the night like that. Me, telling him stories that I could remember about my family. About my life and who I was before everything changed. No matter how I processed the memories, Stiles was right there with me through it all. If I laughed, he would laugh. If I cried, he would wipe them away, and it was such a sweet gesture that it was almost too much for me to bear.

One thing I noticed is that we never kissed through any of it. Somehow, that made the whole experience even more meaningful to me. It's hard to explain, but his being there for me and listening and truly understanding what happened to me meant more than a physical relationship ever could have.

* * *

 ** _Ughhhh, sappyyyy. XD But I love it lolol. You guys! Your reviews have been so sweet and encouraging. I really, really appreciate them. I hope you can see that things are about to pick up in a very big way here._**


	59. The One With All The HP References

_***The lights are down. A spotlight loudly flips on, centered on a stage. I calmly walk into the spotlight.***_

 _ **Hello. The day is upon us. I have been waiting for this day for just shy of a year. I thought it might never happen. But it has.**_

 _ **SOMEONE MADE ME FAN ART. YOU GUYS, THIS BEAUTIFUL MOTHERFUCKER -**_ JackieOh **_\- FIRST SHE LEFT THIS STUNNING REVIEW, AND THEN, TO TOP IT OFF, SHE COMPLETELY KNOCKED ME ON MY ASS AND DROPPED THE BOMB THAT I'VE BEEN ANTICIPATING FOR MONTHS. SHE MADE THIS STORY A VIDEO. I watched it like, a thousand times. So, the link to the video is:_**

fanficjackieoh dot tumblr dot com /tagged/vid

 ** _When the page opens, it should be the first video that comes up. It's called Red Rover, Red Rover (obviously) and it has links to both my profile and this story. She actually used Selena Gomez for Savannah because Lola Leon isn't an actress, so it just made more sense to use Selena. And tbh, I never expected Selena to fit Savannah as well as she does, but then I started looking shit up on Tumblr that Jackie recommended and now I've fallen into this endless hole on tumblr concerning Selena/Dylan manips and oh god please send help (kidding. sort of)_** ** _._**

 ** _So! If any of you ever want to make fan art, I will die and probably fangirl WAY TOO much over it (ask JackieOh, I basically embarrassed myself) and then I'll dedicate my life to you like I am to JackieOh. In Jackie's honor, I went ahead and introduced Brooke/Isaac this chapter! Squeeeee!_**

 ** _Selena has taken co-ownership of the faceclaim for Savannah. So that should make fanart wayyy easier, for you artfully inclined angels out there reading this fic. If inspiration strikes, do not be shy._**

 ** _Also, one of you has asked me how I picture Brooke! It's a fair question, one that I've been dreading just a bit because she's such an eccentric character that no matter who I choose, you probably won't find them dressed remotely like Brooke does. Nevertheless, I do have one actress that does a really, really lovely job of filling a faceclaim for her. Jessica Parker Kennedy. I wish I could share some specific pictures of her with you guys where she's dressed more brightly and looks how I picture Brooke... I'm actually pretty helpless when it comes to setting profiles up on social media sites. Which is why my own profile on here is garbage. But if someone wants to set up a tumblr blog or something somewhere where we can just put pictures/posts/art concerning this fic, I would definitely have a few things I'd like to post._**

 ** _(I literally just received another piece of fan art from Hurricane.'97 that is a drawing of Brooke holding a 'Fuck Maggie Melwood' sign and I'm dead on the floor right now. I need to figure somewhere I can post these things for you guys to enjoy.)_**

 ** _ALSO... You may have noticed; I edited the earlier chapters again. (oops) Do not be alarmed that this fic is now down to 59 chapters. Nothing was lost or deleted. It's just had some work done to it, lol. But that means if you have reviewed on chapters 58-63, there's a potential that this site won't let you review on your account. I don't even know if it'll be an issue, but if it is I would suggest leaving it as a guest review because you can leave as many as you want anonymously. :D Forgive me! Lol I can't help myself..._**

 ** _Okay, so excuse the long note, onto the chapter!_**

 ** _**This chapter is dedicated to JackieOh and Hurricane.'97 for their AMAZING, FANTASTICAL, DID I SAY AMAZING? FANART! Thank you both so much. Seriously. Bless you with a thousand cute-animal-of-your-preference snuggles.**_**

* * *

"There's not enough coffee in the _world_ to get me over there," I said, looking over at Brooke. Stiles stood in front of me, rifling through his book bag for something, and I took his chemistry book from his hands so it would be easier. He glanced up briefly to wordlessly thank me, his search becoming more intense now that he could use both his hands.

"But I worked so hard!" Brooke whined, and I grit my teeth and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "And I got you your favorite flavor just because I love you so much and Savannah _pleeeaaase_."

"Hey, what's going on?" Isaac approached us from behind, and Scott turned to welcome him. All around us, students were either trying to pass us to get to class, or pausing to watch the commotion as well.

I snorted at Brooke and shrugged my shoulders. "Brooke, forget it."

She geared up to protest again but I cut her off.

"You know, you didn't even ask me about this before you did it," I pointed out, and Stiles must have found what he was looking for because he snorted triumphantly and yanked it up, some papers fluttering to the ground. He hesitated and seemed torn between retrieving them and handing me my keychain, which I was unaware he'd even had.

"Stop hiding behind your boyfriend and face me like a woman!" Brooke exclaimed, and Isaac's eyebrows shot up and he looked to Scott, choking slightly on his drink.

" _Boyfriend?_ Did she say _boyfriend?_ "

Stiles' face was caught in a wince as I pushed around him, Brooke's comment working to finally get me in front of her. She smirked triumphantly and Scott was cut off before he could reply. "I mean, we hadn't labeled it _yet_ ," Stiles muttered, earning a poisonous glance from me that immediately shut him up. "But yeah, boyfriend sounds right to me. Boyfriend is good."

"Isaac, this is Brooke. She's the president of our fan club and she's two comments away from getting publicly checked," I said, in the most asshole-ish tone I'd ever used on her, and everyone around us collectively held their breath to brace for Brooke's reaction.

She stared at me with her face scrunched for a moment and then, "I'm the _president!?"_ She gushed.

I turned wide, wild eyes onto Stiles as she continued to fawn over this new label. "Okay," He quietly muttered, taking my shoulder to pull me back just as I stepped forward. I growled a little and he seemed amused at this, while Brooke was oblivious and Scott just shook his head. "Let's get you to class. We can deal with the—" He turned his gaze back to my locker, which had been decorated with bright wrapping paper in honor of my passing my last chemistry quiz. "Locker situation after the homicidal glint has left those big, beautiful brown eyes of yours."

I snarled a lip but didn't fight him as he grabbed my hand and dragged me away.

Behind us, I heard Isaac wondering aloud why everyone was ignoring him. I could hear Scott following us, and Brooke quickly followed behind him.

"Oh," Isaac dryly commented, standing by himself. "Thanks, guys."

I turned to see Brooke quickly backing up to grab Isaac by the elbow and dragging him to catch up with us. "I'm only helping you because I hate it when people are left out on my watch," She smoothly explained.

Isaac threw a bewildered look at us and I shrugged as she dragged him to walk beside us. "I'm—sorry, have I done something to piss you off?"

"Yes," She chirped. "How dare you."

I squinted an eye at this, my anger having drained right about the same time Stiles complimented my eyes, and pursed my lips at Isaac. "She's probably angry that you didn't tell her yourself."

Isaac seemed to grow frustrated. "Tell her what?"

"You know," Brooke lowly accused, her eyes narrowed.

"She _knows_ ," Scott helpfully supplied. Isaac threw his hand out as if to exclaim that he still didn't follow, but when he caught the meaningful expression in Scott's face he came up short, his mouth agape.

Isaac turned his eyes back onto Brooke. She looked at him with her arms crossed. "You realize we've never spoken before this moment, right?"

She shrugged. "That doesn't mean we're not friends."

He raised a challenging eyebrow. "Actually—"

"Brooke is friends with everyone in BHH," I explained, and my sarcasm went straight over her head. "See," I pointed at her and Stiles rubbed his forehead behind me. "This is why. She's immune to negativity. It rolls right off her like water on a duck's ass."

Brooke flipped her hair over her shoulder and stuck her hand out happily. " _Thank_ you."

I smirked and she grinned back at me, and it was so genuine that it was suddenly impossible to be annoyed with her. I rolled my eyes and bumped shoulders with Stiles as Scott suddenly took the floor.

"So Isaac, how are things going with Jackson?"

Isaac's mouth flattened into a grimace and he nodded. "Exactly how you'd expect."

I threw my finger out, not wanting to pass up the chance to bash Jackson. "You know how Kanye West wants to be an actor when he grows up?" Stiles snorted beside me. "And once he's finally on a movie set he just hangs around for days after he's finished his two lines, playing his music too loud, and refusing to leave, even when the crew try to politely ask him to, just so he can pick fights with everyone? That's how I imagine Jackson. Except he's a werewolf."

Stiles shook his head. "No, he's definitely more Kim than Kanye."

I snorted loudly and threw my head back. "No way!"

"Actually," Isaac started, his head tilted, and I looked at him in blatant disbelief. Isaac hesitated at my expression and cleared his throat, barely glancing at Stiles as he looked down. "No, you're right."

"Wait, who? Who's right?" Stiles wanted to know, pushing around me slightly. I smacked his hand.

"Me!"

"Let the man speak!" Stiles put a hand on my shoulder that I immediately shrugged off.

"Isaac, tell him!"

Isaac sighed loudly.

"Is this real leather?" Brooke asked Isaac, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket.

"I think he's like Draco," Scott suddenly interjected, and Stiles and I stopped walking to gawk at him. He paused and looked back at us, self-conscious. "What? No?"

"Does that make you Harry Potter?" Stiles dryly asked, and Brooke gasped.

"I see it," She gushed, and then abruptly grew still, side-eyeing Scott. "I've always felt more like a Ginny than a Brooke."

"No way," Isaac scoffed, drawing surprised looks from all of us. He shrugged. "She's definitely a Luna."

"And you're a Neville," I sneered, making Scott laugh out loud.

"Yeah?" He asked, unimpressed. "Then you're a Ron."

I gasped and reared back, touching my chest in offense. "No!"

Brooke excitedly hopped, pointing at Stiles. "He's Hermione!"

Stiles dropped his hands from his hips to hold them out incredulously. "That's ridiculous!"

"I'm pretty sure I've heard you tell me I have the emotional range of a teaspoon before," I said, just to piss him off. He scoffed.

"If the shoe fits."

I reached out smack his shoulder and Brooke giggled manically.

"This is perfect."

"I think you're scared of spiders, too," Stiles smartly continued, crossing his arms at me.

"Shut your mouth," I hissed, pushing him back from the others. He snorted and grabbed my arms, shaking his head.

"You wouldn't go near the one in the kitchen the other night."

I gripped his elbow tightly. "But I wasn't scared of it!"

"Then why did you call my dad over?"

"It was huge."

"Exactly," he nodded. "You were afraid."

"No, it was _huge_ , I thought he should know that his house was developing a pest problem."

"Spiders are more scared of you than you are of them," Brooke helpfully noted behind us.

"Can it, Lovegood!" I snapped, drawing a surprised snort from Scott and a smirk from Stiles. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Keep it up," I warned, poking him in the chest. He simply grabbed my face and leaned down to kiss my nose, which made me practically blow up in rage.

He laughed at my short temper, and Brooke sighed happily behind us. "Hate to cut this short, but classes start in about three minutes," Brooke noted. I turned to see her holding her hand out to me. "Come on."

I didn't budge from Stiles' side, even as I was fuming at him. "I'll catch up with you."

She raised an eyebrow at me, glancing over at Stiles. Apparently he didn't offer her any assistance because she unhappily pouted and shrugged petulantly. "Fine. But when you're late and you get a detention, remember whose advice you ignored."

With that, she turned to hold her hand out to Scott, who looked surprised at the gesture. "Come on, my sweet."

Isaac seemed disturbed and visibly reacted, his face scrunching in surprise. "Did everyone get boyfriends without me noticing?"

Brooke looked back at him. "Yes," She said, before Scott could reply. "Sucks being out of the loop, doesn't it?"

Isaac twitched slightly. He watched as Brooke grabbed Scott's hand and led him off, all the while Scott was sending up glances that clearly called for help. I think he was too nice to tell her no.

Stiles watched over my shoulder with his hands on his hips. "He's in too deep now," He said, referring to Scott.

I nodded. "There's no getting out of it. She's going to marry him, with or without his permission."

"Allison's got some serious competition," He said, his voice so somber that I couldn't keep a straight face for very long. I burst out laughing and Stiles raised his amused eyebrows at me, shaking his head.

"You're joking, right?" Isaac dryly asked.

Stiles and I looked at each other, our eyes narrowed hesitantly. Neither of us could seem to land on a definite response.

Isaac rubbed his chin thoughtfully, glancing back to where they'd disappeared. "How have I not met her yet?"

I sighed at him. "Don't ask yourself that. It's a trap. I fell into that hole weeks ago. Then I found out we met months before I even knew about it."

"She's crazy," He decided, and Stiles shrugged as he threw an arm over my shoulder to steer me down the hall.

"She's something, alright."

I sighed. "I'm just glad she found out after everything that happened this year was finished. Could you imagine if she'd known about—" I paused and glanced around the hall. "The Lizard?"

"Dear God," Stiles shuddered.

"I really can't picture that," Isaac said, his gaze focused on how Stiles' arm was around me. He was clearly still taking a moment to adjust to what he felt was a sudden change.

Stiles didn't seem to notice, lifting his hand against my shoulder as he spoke. "I don't think you want to."

Isaac drew in a breath, watching us thoughtfully as we walked down the hall. "How long has this been—happening?" He asked, gesturing between us.

I squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable with the topic. Stiles seemed amused at this, dragging me closer against him just to make me feel even more awkward. "I'm more interested to see how long it takes her to adjust to talking about it," He paused to drop his voice dramatically, leaning in to whisper. "Out loud."

I shrugged my shoulder to push him back, biting my lip to stifle a smirk. "When you quote Edward Cullen at me like that, it makes me want to punch you."

"Aw, she's not bitter at all. She's so _sweet_ ," He mockingly cooed, tugging me tightly against him in a side hug that I tolerated, my face squishing against him.

"Yeah, I'm so syrupy sweet, I'll rot your teeth down to their core," I blandly commented, and Isaac snorted.

"I might live to regret this, but I've missed that sarcasm of yours, Carmichael."

I looked over at him in surprise and Stiles slid his arm off of my shoulders to nudge me towards him. When I looked back at him, he bobbed his head knowingly and winked with a smirk playing at his lips. "I'll see you after class."

The expression on his face drew a rare grin from me, and I nodded at him. "Okay."

As he left, I turned back to Isaac and grabbed him around the neck, jerking him down to my level so I could give him a noogie. "Me and you, Blues Clues!"

He growled irritably and tried to push me off, but I just tightened my grip and scrubbed my knuckles harder.

"I, missed, you, _too_ ," I teased through my teeth, and he finally shoved me off.

"God, you're such an asshole," He huffed, and I smirked widely, my hands out.

"Wanna skip?"

He paused in pulling his jacket back over his shoulders from where it'd been shoved down during the noogie. He looked up at me, glancing around the hall briefly. "Seriously?"

I waved my hand over my shoulder. "Yeah! Come on, let's go."

Isaac sighed and joined me as I turned to quickly walk down the hall. "You're such a bad influence," He muttered, though I could tell he was enjoying himself as he walked proudly beside me.

"Yeah, and you're an enabler," I shrugged. "That's our thing."

He scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, I guess it is, huh?"

"Over there." I pointed at a side exit that led out to the teacher's parking lot.

"Are you crazy?" He exclaimed, looking down at me with wide eyes. "What if a teacher is coming in late!?"

I waved him off. "Like who?"

"Savannah!" He hissed, as I abruptly took off for the doors. "Savannah!"

I brushed past a few students and pretended to go to a locker. When I didn't see any nearby teachers, I glanced over my shoulder at where there used to be cameras. But when Principal Thomas removed some, he apparently felt that the teacher's parking lot was not something that really needed to be closely monitored. Idiot.

"Do you think it's illegal to not have a camera watching every exit?" I asked Isaac, fully intending to provoke him with that question. He simply shrugged a shoulder at me.

"Why are we questioning it?" And with that, he blew past me and cockily walked out of the doors. I admit; I was impressed. But then, I think that's what he was aiming for. I grinned and quickly followed after him.

We stepped outside, and I breathed in the fresh, warm air. "How could I possibly be expected to handle school on a day like this?"

Isaac grinned and put his hands out. "We're doing this."

"Yeah," I teased, pushing his shoulder. "So shut up and do it already!"

He followed me as I practically skipped off the sidewalk and onto the parking lot. It occurred to me that it probably isn't a good idea to skip class when I'm already on such thin ice with my grades and attendance, but I happen to have it on good authority that we're just watching a boring documentary in geography this morning.

 _No, thank you._ I was about to ask Isaac where he wanted to go when we heard a wheezing cough come from one corner of the parking lot. We froze and whirled around just in time to see Coach Finstock stepping briefly away from the opened door of his truck with a flask in his hand. He tossed it back and then shook his head quickly, wincing at the burn. Finstock let out another cough and screwed the metal lid back on, tossing it inside his truck haphazardly.

"Shit," I whispered, and Isaac was already back at the school, trying to open the doors. But they apparently locked from the outside. He threw his hands out to me and I gestured wildly for him to come back down to the parking lot. He shook his head and I pointed violently at a car, indicating that we should hide behind it.

"No," He mouthed, shaking his head. I pointed again. "I'll just grab him!"

"Grab him and what?" I whisper screamed.

Isaac shrugged widely. "I don't know, kill him?"

I thought my eyes were gonna pop out, I gawked at him so hard.

Isaac hesitated. "Too violent?... Yeah, that was too violent again, wasn't it?"

Finstock's door slammed shut and he hacked like he was trying to draw up a loogie. I snarled my nose in disgust and basically hopped in place as Isaac hurried to join me. I pushed him along and we both dropped to the ground behind the car just as Finstock passed the row of cars that was closest to us.

I sat on the ground, my back pressed against the wheel, and kept my head ducked lowly just in case he would happen to look over. Isaac apparently did not share this instinct. He sat with his head up, but slightly shrank into his shoulders, and I clutched him by the neck of his shirt to yank him down. "When will you learn to _duck!?"_

We whispered furiously at each other, engaging in a brief slap fight, and I smacked him off to point at him warningly. He slapped my hand away.

" _What_ the hell are two idiots doing?" Finstock snapped from above us.

Isaac nearly fell over in surprise and I quickly turned to press my hand against the tire like I was checking the pressure. "Yeah, no, you're right, Isaac," I said loudly. "This one _does_ feel a little flat."

"Wow, well, h-how about that," He lamely played along, his voice a little too loud. Finstock wasn't buying it for a second as he scoffed and threw his head back impatiently. "We should just take it to the junk yard at this point."

I pulled the keychain out of my pocket purposefully, getting to my feet and silently thanking Stiles for returning it to me this morning. Even if I hadn't realized I'd lost it. Finstock watched with an unhappy face as I swirled the keychain around my fingers and paused, my hip jutted. "Hey, you know, I heard they've slated a sequel to Independence Day," I tried, and Finstock froze.

His face scrunched. "Get out of here!" He threw his finger back at the school. "Both of you!"

" _All right_ ," I said, my hands up. "If you say so," I turned to reach for the handle of the car door and Finstock rushed forward to grab me by the back of the jacket, also latching onto Isaac's ear.

" _Ah_ , how come _she_ gets her jacket pulled and _I_ get an ear?"

Finstock yanked us both roughly towards the sidewalk and I dug my heels in. "Wait, wait! Let's all just take a beat to think about this, yeah?"

"Oh, you'll take a beat, alright," Finstock rumbled in that gravelly voice of his, and let go to shake his fist at me. "Just watch!"

I breathed out a surprised laugh and shrugged my shoulders. "You know, class started about three minutes ago. Do you really want to be any more late to your class just so you can take us to Principal Thomas?"

"If you think I'm gonna let you skip, you're dumber than Greenberg. And he's had three concussions!"

I shrugged a shoulder. "Oh, alright. If that's the way it has to be."

He nodded and grabbed my shoulder again, dropping Isaac to shove us both along. "That's the way it has to be."

"Well then I'll just tell him we saw you taking a little nip out of that flask before class," I regretfully said, shaking my head. "Maybe you saw wrong. Who's to say?" Finstock's gripped tightened as he yanked us to a halt, pulling me back to scowl in my face.

His lip twitched like he wanted to argue, visibly at war with himself. "Thomas isn't going to believe a word you say."

"Well I mean, I won't have to say much," I shrugged. "I've got a witness who never blinks, and never lies." They both paused and Finstock glanced at Isaac, unimpressed when he blinked at us. "Cameras," I sarcastically clarified. "The cameras caught it all."

Isaac peered at me in confusion, because we had just discovered that those cameras were removed. Finstock glanced over his shoulder, unintentionally dragging us around in the process. He whipped his head back to me.

Finstock shoved us away. "We never saw each other," He said, his finger out threateningly. "Or else I'll fail you both."

"We speak the same language, Finstock."

His eye twitched and he aimed his finger directly in my face. " _No_ we don't. Now get out of here before you make me any later."

When we were far enough down the sidewalk, we broke into a giddy jog and ducked into the woods. "You're a genius!" Isaac exclaimed, and I whooped loudly. "An evil, manipulative genius!"

"Oh, stop, you're making me blush." I snorted as he rolled his eyes.

"What do you think he's going to do when he figures out there are no cameras?"

I shrugged a shoulder. "What are the chances we'll get a detention from him?"

Isaac shook his head. "Nonexistent. I would say nonexistent. He hates them more than students do."

I shrugged pointedly, my hands up. "Then who cares what he'll say?"

Isaac looked away thoughtfully, stepping around a skinny tree. "So did you say where you wanted to go?"

"Uh," I paused and looked around, tapping my fingers to my chin thoughtfully. "Yeah, I think I know a place."

* * *

We stood, no more than ten minutes later, in Isaac's dad's old graveyard.

There was a tombstone that had his name and his years of life written across it. Isaac huffed out and shook his head. "Why did we come here?"

"Well, because," I cleared my throat and shifted. "You know, I'm trying to be more supportive and shit."

He threw me a bemused look. "Why?"

I sighed and rolled my head back. "Isaac, would you just—you know—do whatever people do in graveyards?"

"I don't _do_ what normal people do in graveyards," He plainly pointed out. "I never have, in case you forgot about how we officially met."

"Well—fuck it. What's normal, anyways?"

Isaac paused and his eyes flitted to the side. "Grieving. Um, flowers, probably."

I scoffed and waved him off. "Something tells me your dad won't miss the flowers."

"Yeah, I think a bottle of whiskey would be more fitting," He admitted, a passive aggressive glint flashing through his blue eyes as he looked down at the grave. Suddenly he was standing a lot more stiffly, and he seemed to be pouring resentment down at the grave. "God, I'm…."

Isaac sighed loudly and ran a hand down his face. "Does it make me awful if I'm just—not effected by seeing this at all?"

"No," I said, my tone strangely lighthearted. The kind that sounded forced. Isaac gave me a dry look and I shrugged. "Well, shit, Isaac. There's no right way to feel about it!"

"I just don't _understand_ how—" He shook his head. "How I could feel nothing?"

"Maybe it's a good thing," I finally suggested. Isaac looked at me, uncertain. "I mean, that bastard made you feel like shit. Every. Day. So, maybe it makes sense that you don't feel anything about seeing a tombstone with his name etched on it. You know?"

He sighed loudly and shook his head. "No, I don't know. It's actually not even that I don't feel anything. I just don't feel— _sad_. But I don't feel _glad_ either. Maybe that's what's throwing me off."

"I think you feel…" I looked him over; at the way he stood leaning back a little, as if to unconsciously place distance between him and his father, even his grave. And the way he didn't look directly at the tombstone, like it was his father's gaze that he still instinctively avoided. I drew a breath in and looked away. "Detached."

He fixed me with a judging expression, his hands in his jacket pockets, and his posture changed when he took his focus off his dad's grave. It became more confident. And ever slightly more cocky, like the guy I'd watched Isaac grow to become without his father looming over his shoulder, and the freedom that the werewolf bite granted him. "Wow. Thanks, Dr. Phil. Do you charge by the hour?"

I scoffed and punched him in the shoulder. "First one's free," I said, leveling a finger at him. "Next time it's two hundred bucks per comment."

He whistled lowly and shook his head. "I think I'll stick to hitting things until they stop being an issue."

I pressed my lips together and shook my head. "Your pop would be so proud."

He snorted violently, shoving my head back, and I snickered and batted his hand off me. "Let's get out of here," Isaac said. "Honestly I'd rather have gone to chemistry."

I mockingly touched my chest like he'd shot me. "Right where it hurts," I teased. "You know right where to hit me."

"Well that was more aimed at my dad than you, but hey," He shrugged at me and smirked when I rolled my eyes. "So where do you want to go?"

I put my hands up. "I dunno, Isaac. You tell me."

He seemed unhappy with this. Isaac peered at me uncertainly. "Why do you want me to decide?"

"Because," I stopped walking to cross my arms at him. "Do you know what your problem is?"

He narrowed an eye at me. "I get the feeling _you_ do, and you're about to tell me."

"You don't make plans." I put my hands up and gestured around. "You follow other people's lead! Remember? You wanted to skip, but you didn't want to go out the exit to the teacher's parking lot. Then, just to prove you could, you led the way out to throw me off. And then you let me take the lead with Finstock. And then you just followed me to the graveyard. You did put up a bit of a fuss, but you still followed. And _now_ , you're trying to let me make plans for you again."

Isaac clenched his jaw and sniffed. "Okay," He flatly said, in a tone that suggested I should make a point. "Thank you?"

I scoffed and threw my head back. "Oh, my god, Isaac! This is what I'm talking about. I'm going to make you make your own decisions, whether you like it or not. Okay? Because I'm trying to be more _supportive_ and shit."

"Okay," He said, equally as frustrated. "Then I say we go back to school."

My eyebrows shot up and I pursed my lips in a surprised frown. I took a step back and looked him over. "Well okay then," I lightly agreed, and Isaac hesitated.

He glanced away. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah, come on," I said, grabbing his arm. "Wait, shit, no." I abruptly dropped his arm and then stepped back with my hands up. "You lead the way. I'm following you."

Isaac rolled his eyes and snorted. "You don't need to do this."

"Yes I do, _go_." I pointed and then cursed and put my hands up again. "I mean— _fuck_ —if you want to, then let's go. Or we could not. Or just—you know what?" I mimed zipping my lips and put my hands on my hips to signal that he should take it from here.

Isaac sighed heavily and turned to walk, making his steps exaggerated as he led the way. I followed smugly behind him and tilted my head at him with a smirk when he turned to look at me.

For a while, we walked in silence. There weren't many people visiting the graveyard, but they nodded politely at us as we passed. It was some graveyard-etiquette that I'd never realized existed before. Like, you're total strangers, and you basically respect each other's distance, but if you _must_ directly cross paths then a simple nod is the polite way to handle it.

Once we were back in the woods, I fell into step with Isaac as we walked along. We'd probably be back before the start of the next class, and admittedly, this decision to go back is in my best interest. I have Chemistry next. I shouldn't miss it.

"You know," Isaac suddenly broke the silence. "I've thought about it, and actually, I changed my mind."

"You don't want to go back?" I assumed.

He shook his head and scrunched his face. "No, I do, I meant—you and Stiles. At first I saw you two together and I went, _huh?_ But then I realized something."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "What's that?"

Isaac paused and smirked. "You two are the same type of weird."

I snorted. "What?"

"Yeah, like, you're both secretly really good people. You just hide it under mounds and mounds of sarcasm and irony."

I laughed loudly. "That analysis is rock- _fucking_ -solid, Blues Clues. I have nothing to add."

He nodded. "Yeah, see? It makes sense."

* * *

I was right. By the time we got back to school, the first class had ended, and there was still some time to go to our lockers before the next one began. We didn't see Finstock, thank God, but that might have something to do with the fact that we entered through the courtyard doors in order to guarantee we wouldn't run into him.

Isaac split off to go to his locker, and I took a moment to admire the fact that someone had kindly removed all decoration from the front of mine. I sighed happily, and I was about to open it when I saw Stiles stalking down the hall in my direction. He moved purposefully, like I was in trouble or something.

I stepped back in surprise and he threw his hand up angrily. "What the hell, Savannah!" He shouted, and I raised my eyebrows at his tone.

"Oh, hello, I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

"You can't just _disappear_ like that!"

Stiles' voice was drawing a lot of unwanted attention from students and teachers alike. I shifted uncomfortably and rubbed at my nose. "Stiles," I lowly said, trying to emphasize that he should lower his voice without saying it aloud. "Let's take a minute here to reflect and realize maybe you're overreacting."

" _Over_ —" He tilted his head at me. "I thought something happened!"

"Like what?" I frowned.

He shrugged violently. "I don't know! All I know is I waited until your class was empty, and then I asked the teacher where you went, and when he said you never showed up—" He broke off and shook his head, finally lowering his voice. "I mean, Savannah, we live in Beacon Hills. Okay? Look at our track record. When people around here disappear, it—" He sighed heavily. "It's time to break out the milk cartons—and oh, my god, I don't even have a picture of you—what the hell am I—"

"Stiles," I interrupted, grabbing his hand to stop him before he could freak out again. I couldn't fight the laugh that bubbled out of me as he continued to panic. I moved around to make sure I caught his gaze. "Hey, you know, if a picture means that much to you I'll let you take one if you don't tell anyone about it. Because if you do, I'll find it, and I'll burn it."

He snorted. "I'll make copies."

"I'll burn those," I easily said, tilting my head at him.

"I'll put it on a flash drive."

"I'll burn that," I grinned.

His face tightened with frustration. "I'll paint it across the freaking water tower if I have to."

I laughed out loud and shrugged, and when I said it he chorused with me in a mocking tone: "I'll burn that, too."

Stiles rolled his eyes and let me step away to open my locker. I continued chuckling to myself and he grumbled moodily beside me. "I mean, why'd you skip with Isaac?"

I lifted an eyebrow at him. "Jealous?"

He scoffed. "Yeah."

I couldn't help it, he made me laugh again, and I shook my head at him. "Relax, we just snuck off to go have sex."

"Oh, yeah, don't even joke about that," He sourly said, waving his finger around. "In case you haven't met me, I happen to be a very insecure skinny introvert, and if you even _hint_ at the possibility that you're already having an affair I'll fixate on it."

"An _affair_ ," I mocked with a laugh, and Stiles sighed loudly. "You go from assuming I was kidnaped and brutally murdered, or worse, to assuming I snuck off with Isaac freakin' Lahey to go cheat on you." He looked at me as if to say I wasn't helping, and I rolled my eyes. "Listen to me, because I'm only going to say this once." I shut my locker and turned to look directly at him, and he grew still at my straightforward honesty. "Relax. I'm yours, got it? Stop trying to complicate it."

He pursed his lips and seemed to consider it, nodding briefly as I turned away. "That's like, a lot of responsibility though—"

I snorted. "Stiles?"

He looked at me.

"Shut up."

He smirked, clicking his tongue. "Okay."

I grabbed his hand and he laced his fingers through mine as we continued down the hall. As we continued down the hall, I could practically hear that Stiles still hadn't completely let it go. I cleared my throat. "So, every time I skip, I have to tell you?"

He smoothly nodded. "Yes."

I snorted and he couldn't fight back his own grin as he finally breathed and seemed to release the tension from his shoulders, shaking his head.

"Yeah," He frowned, "Just don't make it a habit, though, okay? Because you're just starting to do well again."

"There it is," I said, my finger bouncing in his direction as I ducked my head. "That's the response I was waiting for."

He shrugged unapologetically. "You want to pass this year? Or had you planned to graduate with a different class?"

I clamped my mouth shut and sighed through my nose. "Yeah, yeah."

By the time we made it up to his class, we were laughing again as I told him about Finstock and how we managed to convince him not to turn us in to the principal.

As he turned to leave, Stiles paused and looked back at me, and I just knew what he was thinking before he even said a word. "Yes, I will be here when class is over."

He raised his eyebrows at me. "If you're not, I'm going to seriously question your—"

"I know," I smirked and waved him off. "Promise."

He pressed his lips together and nodded at me, raising his hand to point at me as we broke apart. I shrugged like I didn't know what he was so worried about, which only made him point harder, and then I turned to head to the library.

For the past few days, Scott and I have started meeting at the library during this period to study with each other. It turns out he's a method-learner. As in, he likes to look up different methods of studying and then religiously adhere to those methods until he feels like he understands it before moving onto a different one.

Today, it was reading things out loud. I managed to grit my teeth through about fifteen minutes of it before my resolve snapped and I just barely kept myself from telling him to shut the hell up.

"You're fifty percent more likely to remember something if you speak it out loud instead of reading it over and over," Scott informed me, for the third time.

I felt my eye twitch. "You mentioned that," I said, my voice vaguely patronizing.

He nodded. "I'm just trying to make sure I remember this stuff for the test."

"Remember _this?_ " I yanked his book out from under his arms. He looked up at me in annoyance. "Ten minute breaks! Study for fifteen minutes, then a ten-minute break. Rinse and repeat."

Scott sighed. "Fine." He leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms, and I shook my head to myself and turned back to my English workbook. "Hey!" He said, trying to swipe the thin book out from under my pen. I growled at him and he let up with a meaningful look that told me to keep a lid on it.

I pressed my lips together and testily smacked the book shut, shoving it away with his. He nodded his approval and I crossed my arms at him.

"So, you never mentioned that you had a nephew. Is his name really Rex?" He casually started, and I froze. My sudden, chilly exterior brought pause to the conversation. Scott watched me warily and I turned my gaze up to him.

"Excuse me?" I said, lowly.

He hesitated. "I just—I was just, wondering about… About your nephew."

I held my hand up and he stopped speaking. "How did you find out about him? Please, _tell_ me he didn't."

I didn't even need to clarify. Scott could tell exactly what I meant by the way I said it. He winced and though it seemed to pain him, he reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, he's—he's been working pretty hard at finding out what he can about him. I thought you knew. I just assumed, I'm sorry."

I smacked my palm into my forehead. "Don't worry about it," I grumbled, which seemed to be the way wrong thing to say to Scott. He sat up.

"Well, Savannah, maybe it's a good thing. You know, you could just tell him, and then maybe if you want we could—"

"You know what I want?" I cut in, nodding my head at Scott with my jaw clenched. He blinked at me and didn't interrupt as I suddenly reached forward to snatch my book from the desk, standing from our table with a screech of my chair. "I _want_ to feel like when I ask you guys to stay out of something, that you respect me enough to listen to me!"

"Savannah, we _do_ respect you!" Scott tried, half standing from his seat as I turned away. "That's why—Savannah! Wait!"

I shook my head and stormed out of the library.


	60. The Cold Shoulder

_**Hey guys! Sorry for the huge delay... To be honest, this chapter was ridiculously hard to write. I rewrote it like, three times, and I'm still not completely satisfied with how it turned out. It's hard for me to write Stiles' character in a relationship. I keep throwing him these curves with Savannah's past, and they're super important parts of who she is, and these subplots need to be dealt with, but it's just so hard to know how Stiles would react to some of this stuff... I'll ramble more on it at the end to avoid spoiling anything, but yeah. Sorry for taking so long. This was just a hard chapter to write. Hopefully it turned out okay! I'll get the next one up ASAP. Leave a review letting me know your thoughts, please!**_

* * *

So, Stiles and I are having our first official argument as a… whatever we are. We've had disagreements in the past, but nothing like this. After I left Scott in the library, I paced around the school for a while in a lame attempt to blow off some steam.

I didn't do anything too crazy. Just punched a wall, and searched my locker for some cigarettes. Of course, there were none. Basically, I dealt with my anger in really healthy, mature ways. It was honestly just a way to pass the time until class ended, and then I stomped all the way to Stiles' locker and hovered in front of it, waiting. Like a lion pacing in front of pride rock or something.

Scott must have tipped him off. I don't know how, but he must have, because Stiles approached me like I was—well, like I was me, and I was pissed. He was tense like he was ready to defend himself with whatever I threw at him, even if it was a book or some other heavy object, and that just made me angrier.

Since he obviously knew what was coming, I saw no point in skirting around the topic.

"You had no right," I seethed, jabbing my finger towards the ground. Stiles winced.

"I know," He admitted. He kept a safe distance away from me, and watched me with a lighthearted gaze. "But it's just Scott. It's not like I told Brooke."

This was the wrong thing to say. I bristled at the implication he'd just made about _my_ friend, and he wasn't prepared for my reaction. My frustration got the better of me and I let out a furious growl, tangling my fingers into my hair.

"Hey," His voice was high, on edge as he made calming gestures to me. "That's probably bad for your blood pressure, don't do that!"

"I don't care who you told! It was my secret! Not yours!"

"I know!" He exclaimed. "I never said it was!"

"Why?" I wanted to know, my voice dropping from rage to what sounded close to hurt. "Why would you tell him that?"

Stiles frowned and his eyes flickered over my face as he finally seemed to realize how upset I actually was. Apparently unprepared for how to handle an upset girl, he shifted uncomfortably. "I—I don't know," He said, honestly. "I didn't even think about it. It's Scott."

"You keep saying that," I said, my voice changing yet again to a more low, gravelly tone that's usually characteristic to my rage. "Like it _excuses_ it or something. Like _Scott_ knowing makes it okay."

"Well," He flatly said, glancing away with his hands hooked through the straps of his backpack. "Doesn't it?"

I grit my teeth. "No! You're missing the point! It's not _who_ you told, it's _what_ you told!"

Stiles' face changed from confused and annoyed, to slightly apprehensive. "Are you seriously mad about this?"

My jaw dropped. _"Yes!"_

Apparently this surprised him. Stiles straightened and glanced away as he seemed to rethink his actions, reflecting on what exactly he did, and what it meant to me. He looked back. "I didn't know it would bother you so much," He admitted.

"Stiles!" I all but stomped my foot. "I _told_ you!"

"No, _you_ said you couldn't remember what happened that night! You never told me not to tell anyone about it, or else I wouldn't have!"

"I shouldn't have to!"

Overwhelmed, I stepped away and ran a hand over my hair again.

"Savannah, listen to me," Stiles urged, finally stepping forward to touch my shoulder, and I jerked out from under his hand. The action hurt him, I could see it reflected in his eyes, but he didn't reach for me again. "I honestly didn't see anything wrong with telling Scott. It didn't even cross my mind that it would be an issue! I tell him everything; you know that! I've told him everything pretty much since the day we met," He said, a touch of desperation in his tone.

I frowned at him and shook my head. "You shouldn't have told him this."

He nodded. "I know. I know that _now_. But you can trust me when I say that Scott was only worried about you. Like, worried _sick_ , actually. He looked miserable and I had to tell him three times that you were okay before he dropped it."

I clenched my jaw and looked him in the eye. "I did trust you, Stiles." He flinched at the past tense and he openly gaped at me like I was overreacting and he couldn't figure out why. "You really don't see the problem, do you?"

"I said I was sorry," He frowned, and I shook my head and grinned bitterly.

"No you didn't."

Stiles stared at me, like he couldn't understand where I was coming from.

I shook my head again. "But so am I."

Before he could say another word, I turned my back and walked away.

* * *

I spent the rest of the school day on edge. It was all I could think about. Honestly, I hated the way I left things with Stiles, but it was difficult, because he doesn't seem to particularly understand that he'd divulged such a sensitive secret of mine.

And actually, I just kept thinking that if it had been _Derek_ to pull something like this… Well, I would have absolutely ripped into him. It might have even devolved to violence, knowing the way the two of us work. But with Stiles… it's just different. I should be angry. I should be so mad that I can't stand it. But I'm not.

Even my Spanish teacher could tell something was off, and she hates me. She asked me if I need to go to the nurse to lie down because I just sat with my head down in her class. It might have been a passive aggressive way to tell me to pay attention, I'm not totally sure, but I was too consumed with thinking about how I could have handled the fight differently to notice.

I also snapped at a kid in my art history class. Please, as if I have the patience to sit through discussing theories about long-dead artists and their varying techniques… I'm just upset, and sick at my stomach, because my brain is telling me that I need to let Stiles sit on this for a while, that I need to keep my distance, in order to really let him know where the lines are drawn. But my instincts are telling me to go to him, to beg for forgiveness if I have to and pretend nothing ever happened, despite the fact that he doesn't seem to respect my boundaries.

I can't let myself do that though. Not for this. It's too important.

It was the end of the school day. My classes seemed to drag on forever, and I was just grateful it was over. But then I realized that the day was _over_ , which means it's time to go home, which means I'm going to sit in an enclosed space with Stiles. In his jeep.

As luck would have it, Scott's in my Geometry class. Which means I can tell him to tell Stiles that I'm catching a ride home with Brooke.

"Are you sure?" Scott asked, his eyes sad. I could see the concern on his face, but it's like I couldn't feel it. I couldn't focus on anything but the huge awkward roadblock between us. It must not have been a big deal to Scott to know one of my deepest secrets… it must not bother him too much, because he just looks concerned for his friend.

But to me, there's a giant roadblock flashing an electronic construction sign between us. _Murderer,_ it says. _Liar!_

I looked away, gathering my books. "Bye," I said as a way of answering.

He watched me go with those sad eyes. I could feel them on the back of my head, following me until I disappeared into the hallway.

* * *

Brooke was in the driver's seat next to me, singing along to some song that I didn't even pretend to enjoy. She doesn't need me to have a good time with it though—she's bobbing her head and tapping the beat out on the steering wheel, dancing in her seat and using her sunglasses as a prop.

The song was by some girl band from the early 2000s, and when it came to a certain part she stopped and pointed at me as if I would join in singing. Even if I was in a _good_ mood, the chances of me singing along to this song are… slim, at best. I simply glared at her.

Brooke sighed and reached over to turn the radio down. "Okay," She said. "Are you going to tell me why you're being such a stick in the mud? Did I miss something?"

"This is my normal personality," I said, flatly. Brooke raised an eyebrow.

"No, it's close, but it's just a little more… _bland_ than usual. You're normally more abusive than this. You haven't even insulted my choice of music once, and I played Spice Girls."

"That's because I can't hear it over your caterwauling," I snipped, and she grinned widely.

"There she is!" She paused, her smile wilting into a cringe. "God, what century are you even from? Did you just say _caterwauling?"_

I smirked and she brightened triumphantly. "Shut up," I mumbled, and nestled down in the seat with my arms crossed.

"Oh, no you don't!" She exclaimed. "Don't go back in your shell, tortoise!"

I scrunched my face at her. "What the fuck did you just call me?"

"Well, you're being about as exciting as a turtle right now, Savannah. A grumpy little turt."

I couldn't help it; I laughed. "Did you just say turt?"

"My lil turt-turt," She cooed, smiling. "That's so your new nickname."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "I hate you."

"Aww," She puffed her lips out in a pout and gave me an exaggerated adoring face. "That's so mean! You're soulless. My soulless turt."

Unable to resist, I snorted out a laugh and covered my face. "That's actually hilarious."

She beamed at me and pushed her sunglasses up her head. "I know." The vehicle pulled to a stop right behind Stiles' jeep outside the house, and she looked at me strangely. "Seriously though, are you okay? Because clearly Stiles drove home already, and I also know you like him more than me, so logically you should have gotten a ride from him." I raised an eyebrow and she tilted her head knowingly. "I'm not going to lie, I'm pretty jealous and maybe bitter about that, but hey. Whatever. My point is—you two aren't fighting, are you? Because that's just… That's _really_ tragic."

I shook my head. "He fucked up, Brooke."

She frowned at me. "You wanna talk about it, turt?"

I cracked a smirk. "Nah," I said, and she nodded sympathetically.

With a sigh, she said, "Okay then. But if you aren't going to talk about it, you won't be able to mope around me either. That's the rule. Either we talk it out, or you suck it up."

"That's the rule, huh?" I asked, unimpressed, and she nodded stubbornly. "Stupid rule."

She shrugged unapologetically. "I hate a stick in the mud."

"You forgot to call me a wet blanket," I dryly noted, and she pointed over my shoulder to the house.

"Quit stalling, buzz kill."

"Okay, mom," I retorted, but she seemed to inflate with pride. Jesus, this girl is impossible to insult.

"Be strong!" She suddenly encouraged, shaking her fist at me as I got out. I leaned down to give her a weird look. "Don't let that boy lull you into a false sense of security." Brooke pointed at my face meaningfully. "Girl power!"

I rolled my eyes and shut the door. As I walked up the sidewalk, I turned around and saw her holding her hands out the window, forming them into the Awkward Turtle position and making the feet wiggle.

I rolled my eyes again, this time affectionately, and returned the gesture as she drove away. She honked the horn.

When I stepped inside, Stiles was hovering anxiously near the door. I frowned at him like he was being weird—because he was—and turned to close the door behind me with a huff.

He opened his mouth to speak, and I put my nose in the air and brushed past him. I could hear him sigh behind me as I walked purposefully to the kitchen.

"Are we going to do this now?" Stiles asked, as I retrieved a glass and turned to glance at him coldly.

"Do what?"

"This." He gestured between us. "This lame passive aggressive fighting crap. Because I'm not up for it."

I looked at him, eyebrow cocked, and filled my glass of water without looking away from him.

He squirmed slightly under my heavy gaze. "If you're mad, I mean—fine. Be mad, but be _mad_."

I scrunched my eyebrows at him, trying to communicate that he wasn't making sense without actually speaking. I rolled my eyes away and took a sip of water, cocking my hip for extra attitude.

Stiles pushed a hand into his hair—which I tried my best not to notice had grown out quite a bit since I last noticed—and god dammit, it looked hot.

I cleared my throat and put the glass on the counter, smoothing my shirt down.

"Savannah," He said, and I forced myself to focus on the glass, twirling it on the counter as he moved towards me. "Savannah, come on…"

I pressed my lips together as his hand slowly reached out and trapped the cup to prevent me from twirling it. Finally, I said, "Let go of my drink, Stiles."

He sighed. Slowly, he lifted his hand. But he didn't move away as I quickly snatched it up and half-turned away from him.

"Do you want me to show you what I've found?"

I frowned at the refrigerator. Secretly, I was tempted, and for some reason that really annoyed me. No. I don't want to know. I don't.

He must have picked up on something in my expression, because he inched forward ever so slightly. "Come on, let me at least show you—"

"I don't—" I snapped, and then I paused to rein in my temper. After taking a breath, I continued in a calmer tone. "I think that would be a bad idea."

He looked miserable. "Savannah, seriously, if you can just see what I've put together, maybe you—"

"No, Stiles," I said, turning to look him in the eye. "I said _no_."

His eyes were regretful. It seemed like he was going to say something, so I cut him off.

"Drop it." I almost pounded a fist against the counter to channel my rage into something other than my chest, because my temper was boiling hot and fast. Instead, I tightened my fist and lightly knocked my knuckle on the countertop. "Please," I added through gritted teeth.

He nodded, and didn't move to stop me as I brushed past him.

His dad, of course, had to work over that night. Which means it would just be the two of us—stuck in this silent war—for the entire fucking night. What a nightmare.

It would be easier to just give up. Part of me wants so badly to forgive him, to just go over to the chair and sit on his lap to be close to him. It was an urge I'd yet to really have with him, which is ironic, since it seems like this fight we're having is only making my feelings toward him grow stronger.

And that pisses me off too.

Honestly, I just want this whole thing to be over. But I need to make my point, so I'm sitting on the couch, across the tense living room with my feet propped on the coffee table and a book in my lap.

Bob's Burgers is playing. Every now and then, Stiles will laugh at something and turn to make a comment to me, but then he'll catch my facial expression and cough like nothing happened.

I felt horrible. A touch immature, as well, but… the fact that he's still trying, that he's still offering to show me 'what he found', says he's not taking me seriously.

"There's a new Indonesian restaurant downtown," Stiles conversationally noted. "It's supposed to be pretty good. But I don't know, what sort of food is that even?"

I kept my eyes focused on the book and shrugged a shoulder.

He watched me, waiting to see if I would comment further. When I didn't, he shifted.

"I'm not even sure where Indonesia is at. Is it landlocked? Is it an island? Maybe it's near the Caribbean's. Or the Middle East. You're in geography, right?"

He knew I was. I sniffed and scratched my nose. Holding out for as long as I could, it seemed like I was less determined than I realized.

Then, he said it. "Maybe Lydia would know."

I snapped my face around to him, and caught him smirking like it was some big joke. Oh _hell_ no.

"Maybe she would," I fumed, and he blinked. "Why don't you go ask her?"

Slowly, the smug expression on his face slipped. He shifted in his seat and shrugged nonchalantly. "I—I mean… She'd probably pretend not to know. I'm picturing an oriental dish, but it could also be Mediterranean."

"Why don't you ask Scott? Or research it? Or both?"

He stared at me, and I raised an eyebrow.

Finally, he tightly asked, "So do you want to try it, or not?"

I blinked at him. "Fine."

"Fine," He agreed, and I turned back to my book. Stiles pushed off his chair and disappeared in the kitchen to order.

On the screen, Louise started screaming in frustration about something, tugging at her bunny ears. Inwardly I grinned. Me too, Louise. Me too.

Stiles ordered for both of us. When it arrived, he brought the bags over to the coffee table and sat next to me. I kept my nose in my book as he started to unpack everything. Soon enough the smell wafted over to me, and my stomach betrayed me by growling.

He ordered things off the grill. Chicken and pork kabobs and steamed rice, and both dishes came with an egg roll.

I sighed and put my book down. Then, I noticed he'd only unpacked one of them. He picked the other box back up and stuffed it in the bag. "There's some extra sauce there, in case you like it," He told me, pointing to a small container near the plate he'd set out. And then, without another glance in my direction, he got up and retreated into his room.

Guilt flooded me. Suddenly, the whole thing seemed really stupid. I felt what might have even been shame and stared in the direction he'd disappeared before slowly turning back to the coffee table to look over the food he'd given me.

Damn it.

It must have been great food, but I couldn't even tell because I was so anxious and upset as I ate it. It smelled fantastic. I managed to finish most of it, and when I cleaned up, I stood in the kitchen and stared out the back window.

The grass had grown back out. It needed mowed again, and as the thought crossed my mind, I recalled the day we mowed the grass. My fingers tugged restlessly at the pendent around my neck.

So I finally faced the question in front of me. The real reason I've been treating Stiles so harshly is because the topic is so difficult for me to think about. I can't deny that I miss Rex. I do, with every cell in my body. And I would love to know more about my brother's disappearance, but it's just hard, and frankly it feels like ripping open a closed wound every time I think of it. Or in this case, sprinkling salt into a festering, infected, puss filled sore.

I sighed heavily and closed my eyes to steel myself before marching back to Stiles' room.

He whipped his head around from the computer, where Scott was on Skype, and they both looked at me with identical expressions of shock. They looked like two Meer cats peeking over the top of a rock.

"Scott," Stiles said, "I'll call you back." Without waiting for a response he closed the window and flipped his monitor off, turning to stand. He seemed to want to cross his floor to me but stopped at the last second, standing awkwardly beside his desk. "Uh—hey."

"Show me," I said, and Stiles moved out from behind his chair, tripping slightly as he did so.

"The research? Show you the research?"

I could hear his heart kick up in anticipation as I nodded, and he smiled at me, the bottoms of his cheek flushed, and it spread to his neck. "Over here."

I stepped to the side as he passed by me to get to his closet, his arm brushing mine, and our eyes briefly met when he stood over me. I cleared my throat and swallowed my beating heart from my mouth as it leapt up in delight at being so close to him after thinking about him nonstop all day.

 _Focus_.

I wish I could say I was surprised when he opened his closet, but I really wasn't. Part of me wants to say that it just proves he knew he was doing something he wasn't supposed to by hiding the wall of evidence he'd collected behind the clothes hanging in his closet, but the larger part of me knew he hid it with good intentions.

It was so that if the Sheriff came into his room, he wouldn't see all the research his son was doing into my brother's case.

My lips parted when he tugged his clothes aside and I finally saw it for myself.

It was detailed. Like, _seriously_ detailed. Newspaper clippings of what happened to my parents. Articles about the night my brother went missing. The news really hounded me for a while when I was in the hospital, and every now and then a reporter would come poking around for a quote, but the nurses were always really great about keeping them out of my room. I didn't want to talk about it with those vultures.

Still, the news covered it as well as they could. And it showed. Stiles had found information in the police station that I knew he probably shouldn't have access to. Details of the case that would be kept sealed from the public's eye.

For example: the exact location of where it happened. Pictures of the scene, pictures of the flooded embankment, because remember: it had been raining that night. The police's operating theory is that his injuries were superficial, at best. There was no other explanation. They think I must have mis-seen it when he hit the rocks. He couldn't have, they said, and walked away. He must have hit the water, and likely gone under for some time.

Near the edge of the pond had been some disturbed foliage, as if an animal had been messing around, like a beaver, or a turtle, or even a deer, all of which are pretty common in these parts… or as if someone had dragged themselves out of the pond. At the time, I dismissed it as wildlife.

Now? Looking at all the evidence Stiles had pinned up? It was easier to see why the Sheriff came to the conclusions that he did. All this time, I thought he was breathing false hope into me. All this time, my experience and emotions clouded the facts with… well, with guilt, and regret, and grief. I didn't let myself consider the possibility that he had survived for even a _second_ , because I know what I saw.

I played it over and over in my mind—picked apart what I should have done differently. Tortured myself with what I would have changed, with what could have been. And I tried desperately to fill in the blank in my memory, to explain what happened to cause me to go from sobbing over the top of the cliff, staring at my dead brother's body, to lying in a hospital bed with a crippled leg. But I never considered the option that he had survived it; never even entertained the idea. In fact, I would lash out at anyone who would so much as suggest it to me.

And then I clouded my mind with drugs. This is the first time I've even allowed myself to think about it objectively, without drugs muddling my logic.

I closed my eyes and turned away, my fingers pressed against my temples. Even now, with my eyes closed, I can see the image clear as day.

Stiles' hand touched my back comfortingly and he opened his mouth, but he must have drawn a blank for what to say, because he closed it and just comforted me.

After a few moments, I managed to collect myself. I drew in a trembling breath and pressed my hand to my mouth, blinking the tears from my eyes. I didn't cry. I couldn't.

"You know, it's not unusual for witnesses to remember things differently, or to block things from their mind—"

I turned to glare at Stiles, and he hesitated at my expression. He closed his mouth again and looked at me with sad, but hopeful eyes. Like he could see that he was getting through to me. I mean, it didn't take a genius to pick up on it. I was practically falling apart over here.

But still. He didn't need to talk to me like that. Like I'm some _wounded_ girl.

With a mouth full of spite, I said, " _I'm_ not the victim here."

Stiles pressed his lips together and just looked at me, his hand still on my back. I stepped forward until it fell away and he watched me take another steadying breath.

Unable to look at him as I said it, I kept my gaze locked on his evidence map. "I'm not going to fight with you about this anymore. If you want to research, you go ahead. But leave me out of it. I don't want to know what you find."

"Savannah," Stiles frowned, and the look I sent him stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Leave me out of it," I repeated, my face hard. "No matter what you discover, there's one thing that won't change. I pushed my brother over the edge of that cliff. _I_ did that. Whatever happened afterwards… I lost the privilege of knowing."

"Savannah," Stiles said again, tilting his head like I was being ridiculous. But he didn't get it. How could he? He's never killed someone before. He's never had to face that reality, that consequence. Pay that high, invaluable cost. It's not fair for me to expect him to know how I feel. "Come on… don't be like that."

I stepped away with a sigh, taking each step like I'd been hit by a truck and was somehow able to walk away from the wreckage. "I'm tired," I told him. "I think I'm going to go to bed."

* * *

 _ **See what I mean, guys!? At first I wrote it so that Savannah waited until they were home to say anything, and then I decided that was OOC for Savannah... then I tried writing the scene in the hallway and Stiles was too apologetic... And this is what I came up with. Because Stiles doesn't strike me as the type to apologize for doing something like this? Like, this is just Stiles being Stiles. Doin' what he do. Investigating, talking shit out with Scott, generally being a babe... If I were to write this chapter from Stiles' POV, he would be VER-CONFUSED because he'd feel like he was trying to help Savannah solve a mystery in her life, and she's just PISSED at him, and he's like DUDE NO HOW ABOUT A THANK YOU and she's like I HATE YOU NEVER SPEAK TO ME AGAIN...**_

 _ **And I also have to keep Savannah in character, because she isn't going to tolerate people prying into her shit, even if it IS Stiles, and since it is, then she's going to handle it differently... UGH. IT WAS JUST HARD, OKAY? XD**_

 _ **Hopefully it wasn't total dog shit. Sorry for the delay! Please leave me a quick review, it'll motivate me to get that next chapter up for you guys! I'm planning to have Savannah interact pretty heavily with side characters, like Brooke, and possibly a little Isaac action, because she's definitely far from forgiving Stiles... but the full moon is up next. So shit's gonna get even more tense. Yeah. I'm stressed when Stavannah fights.**_


	61. The Full Moon Galapalooza!

**PLACES, PLACES, GET IN YOUR PLACES!** **THROW ON YOUR DRESS AND PUT ON YOUR DOLL FACES.** **EVERYONE THINKS THAT WE'RE PERFECT -** **PLEASE DON'T LET THEM LOOK THROUGH THE CURTAINS...** **PICTURES, PICTURES,** **SMILE FOR THE PICTURES!** **POSE WITH YOUR BROTHER, WON'T YOU BE A GOOD SISTER?** **EVERYONE THINKS THAT WE'RE PERFECT - _I know what you're thinking. Cat, what the hell are you doing? Why are you being so annoying? Why are you singing Melanie Martinez? WELL, I'll tell you! I was inspired by someone!_**

XLostxinxWonderlandX314 _**messaged me with the link to the CATCHIEST fucking playlist I've ever listened to. She put it together herself and it's inspired by the characters in this story :) Specifically Stavannah! So if you're a hardcore Stavannah shipper like me, head on over to the link and give her playlist a listen!**_ **8tracks dot com /xlostxinxwonderlandx/stavannah**

 _ **What's that? Oh, that still doesn't explain the Melanie Martinez song? Actually, this wonderful reader also told me that while she enjoys Brooke's face claim (Jessica Parker Kennedy) She actually pictures Brooke like Melanie Martinez. AND THIS IS AMAZING! I lovvveee her. She dresses crazy like Brooke does, and it's very adorable. And as I wrote this chapter I realized that I can definitely see it. The lyrics that I screamed at the beginning describe Brooke's home life perfectly. So I wanted to use this as a super weird segue and tell you guys that you can absolutely picture all of these characters as anyone you fucking want to. Just because I see a character a certain way doesn't mean that's who you have to picture. I mean, I know I'll never see Bella from Twilight as Kristen Stewart. That's the beauty of fiction! Anything goes ~ If you picture the characters as someone else, let me know! And if you're conflicted because you really think this amazing, eccentric singer totally fits Brooke, but the stupid fanfic writer said she sees JPK, THEN YOU KNOW WHAT? FUCK IT. Just make the fan art with whoever you WANT! (P.S. I can't stop listening to Melanie Martinez now)**_

 _ **This might be one of the longest chapters I've ever written for this story. It's up there, anyway...**_

* * *

It's been a long time since I've felt embarrassed about anything, let alone about social interactions. So long, in fact, it took me a long time to identify what it even was that I was feeling the next morning over breakfast when I looked at Stiles' face at the breakfast table and was hit with this overwhelming sensation of shame and humiliation, padded with a touch of anxiety.

He turned his eyes up to me and looked cautious, as if gauging my mood, and it was in that moment—in seeing how hesitant he was and how out of character it was for him to feel so _uncertain_ of himself—that suddenly I hated seeing him wear that expression. He should never have to feel that way. And then as I sat at the table and he looked down and shifted his actions to match whatever mood he thought I was in, I realized that it was because of _me_. Because of how I had been treating him.

I had a flashback to the intense silent treatment I gave him yesterday, and how coldly I responded when he finally showed me the work he'd put into researching my brother, and it felt like one of those moments in life when you realize you've actually been a total shit to someone you care about. Like when you're halfway through an argument before you realize that _they're_ right.

And I had no idea how to go about handling the situation. Do I apologize? Is that stupid? Would he even appreciate that? Would it belittle the point that I actually _do_ have in this whole thing, which is that it's not okay for Stiles to totally disregard me when I specifically ask him not to do something, particularly when something so private is at stake?

The sheriff was looking between us with his eyebrows furrowed and his detective face on as he chewed his toast. Even he didn't try to fill the silence. He just let it run its course, watching. Observing. Which really only served to highlight the ridiculousness of the situation. I sat with my cup of coffee, sneaking a glance at Stiles every now and then before I had to immediately avert my eyes. I wondered if Stiles could tell the difference between my silences.

Did he know that the reason I'm not speaking to him this morning is different from last night? Could he tell that I felt self-conscious? Nervous, even? I've been so worried about defining the nature of our relationship as if that could somehow make it last any longer or make it any more meaningful, but what if I just ruined everything yesterday?

Well. I'm having all _sorts_ of epiphanies this morning.

When breakfast was finished, Stiles and I hovered in the living room, as if unsure of what to do. He looked at me and said, "Are you going to ignore me forever?"

 _Shame_. I looked away, at a complete loss for how to respond. Admittedly, I'm too prideful to apologize. I know it. He probably suspects if, if he doesn't already realize it too. "No," I finally said, and Stiles' face was carefully unresponsive. "I don't want to ignore you, Stiles. I hate this."

A moment of startling honesty. Stiles seemed to soften slightly. "You don't have to, you know. It wouldn't upset me any if you didn't."

I smirked and looked down, and Stiles stepped forward.

"I mean, have you ever been in an argument with someone you care about before?"

I shot him a dirty look and he only smirked to let me know he was joking. "Of course I have," I snapped back, though there was no actual bite to my words. "With my brother."

Stiles' eyebrows shot up and he laughed. "Oh! Great! So the last time was when you were eleven. That explains a lot."

I rolled my eyes but I couldn't hide my smirk. "I wasn't _eleven_."

"The last person that gave me the silent treatment was named Suzie…" He told me, looking up as he thought back, and even though he was trying to insult my immaturity I had to smother my amusement. "I want to say her name was Suzie, but all I can really remember is that she was missing a front tooth which was pretty bad ass, and she was mad because I kept stealing her favorite swing on the playground."

"So this happened last week, then?" I smartly guessed, and Stiles scoffed and gave me a light nudge as I tried to keep my voice just as serious as his. "I told you to stay away from that playground Stiles, you know how the neighbor kids bully you."

"Oh," He laughed, coming close enough to grab me as I turned away to hide my grin. "Is that right? You know what, next time you're mad at me, just go ahead and push me off a cliff."

I gasped and barked out an incredulous laugh before I could stop myself, reaching out to smack his shoulder roughly. He flinched away as he snickered and dodged my next hit with his hands up. "Asshole!"

"I know!" He boldly laughed. "I know, I'm terrible, it keeps me up at night, but at least you're talking to me now, right?"

"Not for long," I threatened, but it was empty and we both knew it. He shook his head at me.

"So I've learned a lot about you in the past seventy-two hours," He told me, and I crossed my arms at him. He certainly has. My brother. My nephew. My apparent inability to handle a fight.

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "Your humiliated silence is even more intense than your angry silence. I don't know how you do it, but you literally made me feel like the worst human on the planet."

Ah. So he did know. I looked away, my cheeks heating, and Stiles grinned in delight. He suddenly pulled me into a hug, which I responded to with a sigh, pressing my hands into his back.

"Do you think this has anything to do with the full moon coming up?" He asked as I pulled away.

I gave him a dirty look. "Why did it feel like you just asked if I'm PMSing?"

He snorted and shrugged a shoulder. "They're kind of the same thing."

I firmly shook my head. " _No_ , they're not."

He hummed noncommittally and fell back on the couch. "Well, are you?"

"PMSing?" I reared back in disapproval and Stiles pursed his lips as if to consider whether or not to follow through with that question.

"Never mind," He finally decided, and I nodded at him.

"That's probably the wisest decision for your health."

"So what's on the agenda for today?" He asked as I went to sit beside him.

"Well, I told Brooke I would come over later."

Stiles scrunched his nose. "She's not coming over for the full moon though, right? Because I already have to juggle shifting werewolves, there's no way I'm going to babysit a hyperactive drama queen while I'm at it."

I shrugged. "Probably not."

He nodded approvingly. "I think Isaac told Scott he needed a break from Jackson, Peter and Derek, so he's going to be joining us."

"Where are we doing this?"

"That's what Scott and I are going to figure out today. Both of our parents will be home, so we have to find somewhere new to do it." Stiles busily flipped the remote in the air and caught it. He whipped around to look at me. "Did you see that?!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Wow."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "You never support me," He teasingly pouted, and I grinned at him.

"Bet you can't do it again." And that's how we spent the next thirty minutes seeing who could get the remote to do the most spins before catching it.

It lasted until we nearly broke it and a picture frame, and then Sheriff told us to cut it out.

* * *

At about three o'clock that afternoon, I headed over to Brooke's place. Stiles left to go brainstorm with Scott about where to bear down for the full moon, and it took some mild convincing before he let me go without driving me to Brooke's.

I thought that she would be appreciative that I respected her privacy and didn't let Stiles see her mansion.

I was wrong.

When I arrived, Brooke opened the door looking confused. Or, rather, her maid opened the door and she was hovering closely behind. "You came!" She exclaimed, and I barely had the chance to look her outfit over before she asked, "How did you get here?"

I looked away from her surprisingly formal and subdued gown to see her glancing around her driveway on her tiptoes from over the maid's shoulder. She frowned curiously at me and caught me looking intensely at the maid, trying to make her uncomfortable so she would duck out.

Unfazed, the maid simply ushered me inside and shut the door behind us.

Brooke realized then that I felt I couldn't tell her with an audience.

"May I take your bag, miss?" The maid asked, gesturing to my backpack. I had some homework to finish up, and I figured I could do it while Brooke did whatever she wanted.

"No," I bluntly told her, and the maid, to her credit, took the rejection gracefully. She simply kept smiling and nodded.

"Very well." Maidly duties finished, she left. I looked at Brooke, who was shaking her head at me.

"Sometimes I think you were raised by wolves."

I snorted. "To answer your question, I ran here."

Her eyes bugged as she herded me up the grand staircase to her room. "You _ran?"_

"It was so Stiles didn't see your house," I told her, mildly annoyed.

"Well if anyone asks you had a driver."

"A what?" I raised my eyebrows at her but she shushed me and practically pushed me into her room. "What are you wearing?" I asked as she quickly shut the door and started towards her closet.

" _Me?_ What about _you?_ I mean, I'm all for making a statement, but this is supposed to be formal," She impatiently told me, and I wandered over to watch her rifle through her massive, colorful closet after I deposited my backpack on her bed. Brooke paused and turned to me. "You're like—what, a size six?"

I blinked at her. Hesitating, I looked down at my shoes. "These are a size seven."

She actually snorted. Covering her mouth, she seemed to spill over with affection as she literally hopped up and down slightly at my answer. "Turt! You're so precious!"

"What?" I asked, almost dazed in confusion as she suddenly left her closet and went to stick her head out in the hall to call for a maid. I watched as the maid came in and Brooke began speaking a mile a minute to her. I tried to follow at first, catching a stray term like _halter, illusion, sheath, off-shoulder, mermaid, trumpet, jewel,_ and _v-neck_ mixed into a mound of gibberish. Every now and then, they would look at me, and the maid's eyes widened slightly at something that was said. It didn't take long for me to lose interest as the maid nodded and Brooke handed her a measuring tape that she'd conjured from thin air. "Okay, whatever. I need to work on my—"

I jumped in surprise as a ribbon of tape wrapped around my hips and held me in place. Instinctively, I reached down and used a claw to slice it in half and it fell away from my body.

"Savannah!" Brooke chided, and the maid held the dangling measuring tape up with wide eyes. She looked back at me with a wary gaze and even took a slight step back as Brooke chided me. "No! _Bad_ turt!"

"Why is she touching me?" I demanded, pointing directly at the maid's face.

"I asked her to!" Brooke exclaimed. "Have you not been listening for the past two minutes?"

Shocked that she even had to ask, I gawked at her. "No!"

She threw her hands up. "Well she has to measure you with a broken tape now! Are you happy?"

The maid looked reluctant as she silently looked over the tape and peeked at me. "She's not coming near me again," I told Brooke, and Brooke rolled her eyes.

"Relax. She's not molesting you. It's her job!"

"Why?"

"Because!" Brooke laughed. "You can't wear _that_ to the gala!"

"What are you talking about?"

Understanding flooded the maid's features and she hid her smile behind her hand as she stepped back to let the two of us hash it out, disappearing in Brooke's closet. I finally turned to Brooke and threw my hands up at her.

"What the heck is going _on?_ "

"The gala!" Brooke exclaimed, as if that should answer all my questions. I only threw my hands out again. "I asked you if you wanted to come, and you said yes!"

"No I didn't!" I laughed. "I said I would come over!"

"Yes, to the _gala!"_ Brooke nodded, and I pushed my hands into my hair.

"What is that, like, a party?"

Brooke seemed unsure for the first time as she looked me over. "You really have no idea what's going on, do you?"

"No!" I quickly shook my head. Apparently I'd been so immersed in my thoughts about Stiles yesterday that I had agreed to this thing without even knowing what it is.

"It's an event that my parents are throwing to auction off the estate of my dad's second cousin."

I looked at her strangely, silently conveying that I didn't really understand her explanation. She shook her hand at me dismissively.

"Never mind!" She told me. "It doesn't matter. I'm sorry that I'm apparently springing this on you, but you really can't wear that."

I looked down at the crop top and short overalls I was wearing. "Why not?" I asked, and she cocked an eyebrow.

"This is a black tie event."

I tried not to sneer. "Maybe I should just leave…" Brooke immediately shook her head, practically dipping into a whine. "I'm not gonna fit in!"

"No, I promise, it'll be fine. I can't do another one of these alone! Come on, there's free food. Five courses!"

I perked up and she nodded with her face smiling widely. "…Do I have to talk to anyone?"

"Only if they speak to you first."

I narrowed an eye and hummed hesitantly.

"Savannah!" Brooke whined. "All I'm asking is for you to wear one of my dresses, eat gourmet food, listen to live entertainment and practice the manners I know you have buried deep, _deep_ down inside that dead chest of yours! Is that so much to ask?"

I sighed dramatically and the maid emerged from Brooke's closet with a deep purple gown slung over her arm. She grabbed the top of it to hold it up for us to see, and I brought a thumb up to chew anxiously at my nail.

Brooke looked back at me with a beaming, hopeful expression that quickly dropped when she saw me gnawing at my finger. She batted my hand down. "Go change," she told me, and I jokingly bit at her.

* * *

"I look ridiculous," I told her, and Brooke excitedly bounced on her heels and shook her head.

"You look beauteous!"

I cringed my lips at her. "I can't wear this, Brooke," I told her, guilty before I'd even ruined it. "I'll spill something on it! Or tear it, how much did this cost you?"

"I didn't buy it," Brooke told me with an amused snort. "My mother did."

"You said you bought your own clothes," I frowned.

She wagged a finger at me. "These clothes aren't _for_ me." Confused, I shook my head at her. "I might wear them, but don't be fooled. These clothes are for my parent's business. They belong to my mother. When I wear them, I'm on my mother's time, not my own. So… technically, you might ruin her dress, but her pockets run deep, so it doesn't even matter because we can just buy a new one."

Disturbed slightly at the detached way she spoke of her lifestyle, I averted my eyes and dropped the subject. "What size dress is this?" I asked in a rare moment of insecurity, running a hand down the side of the soft fabric and turning to look at how my butt fit in it.

"A size eight, ma'am," The maid kindly told me, picking at the strap that had slid down my shoulder. I turned to help her tug it up and she must have seen something in my face because she said, "A very flattering fit, ma'am."

"Stop calling me that," I said without looking at her as I sighed and turned away from the mirror.

"Yes, ma'am."

I shot her a dirty look and she simply turned away to disappear back in the closet.

Brooke suddenly let out an envious whine. "Come on! How is this fair? I bought that dress because the model looked so good in it, and it just hung off me like a curtain! I never should have let that shrew talk me into ordering up two sizes. Runs small, my foot…"

"We offered to have it fitted for you, Ms. St. James," the maid said from her closet, and Brooke rolled her eyes and waved her off without replying.

"Have it _fitted_. When I buy a dress, I expect it to fit," Brooke said, a borderline spoiled tone sneaking into her voice. The maid came out of the closet with three different pairs of heels in her arms. Brooke suddenly took my hand and held it up to look the dress over. "Ugh. I wish I had curves like you! Look at that hiney," She suddenly cooed through clenched teeth. "I just wanna _bite_ it—"

I burst out laughing and the maid shook her head with a small smile. "Brooke, I have a boyf—" I broke off with a cough and turned to the maid to try and distract from what I just let slip. "Are those for me?" I asked, and before the maid could so much as open her mouth, Brooke squealed in delight and hopped up and down.

"A boyfriend!" She burst. "Stiles is your _boyfriend_ now?" She suddenly gasped and flew across the room to retrieve something from her nightstand. "I guess the fight is over. In that case…"

"I didn't say that," I tried, but Brooke pointed at me almost accusingly.

"Yes you did!" She exclaimed. "She did, did you hear that, Madeline?" She asked the maid, as Madeline held out one pair of shoes to the dress and then shook her head at them in disapproval.

"Yes, ma'am," she absently agreed, and Brooke gave me a smug smile.

"See? Madeline heard it, too."

"Madeline is paid to say yes," I rejected.

"I'm never dishonest with Ms. St. James for the job," The maid casually said, holding up the next pair. Apparently she approved because she set them in a different pile as she held up the final pair and tilted her head.

"She's never dishonest with me," Brooke repeated, puffed up.

"She has to say that—" I started, and Brooke cut me off.

"These," She said, picking up the first pair that the maid had ruled out. The maid kept a straight face, but she must have been frustrated. She picked the shoes up and I held my hand out.

"Now, wait a minute," I frowned, and pointed at the second pair. "Madeline liked those."

Brooke stared at me, unblinking. I think I was beginning to see another dimension to Brooke. Could she actually be a bit spoiled? With a straight face, she said, "Fine. The second pair."

The maid kept quiet, but didn't look exactly happy as she took the other two pair and turned for the closet. "Yes, ma'am."

I scrunched my face slightly, uncomfortable in this sort of hierarchy. "How long is this going to take?" I asked, and turned just in time to see Brooke snapping a picture of me. "Hey!"

"It'll take around three hours."

"Three hours!?" I exclaimed, and Brooke looked at up as if startled.

"Well you're going to have fun!" She reassured me with a warm smile, and I simply narrowed my gaze at her.

"It's four o'clock!"

"Yeah, it starts at five and it'll be over by eight for sure, barring any unforeseen complications." She sounded like she was directly quoting someone as she glanced over at me. "Eight-thirty at the latest," She nodded, and tapped away at her phone.

"The full moon—" I broke off, glancing back at the closet where the maid was. Lowering my voice, I stepped closer to Brooke. "The full moon is tonight."

She looked at me with a wide gaze. "Oh, god. Does that mean…?"

I raised an eyebrow and nodded impatiently. "Yeah!"

She gasped and covered her painted mouth. "I didn't realize!" I sighed and ran a hand over my hair, and Brooke looked to the closet. "Madeline!" She called.

The maid appeared in the doorway. "Ma'am?"

"Thank you so much for your help. Your taste is impeccable. Be sure to help yourself to the food tonight, okay?"

Madeline smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Brooke. It was my pleasure." She looked to me. "You look lovely, Ms. Carmichael. It was nice meeting you."

I smiled at her, though it was slightly forced, and waited until she was gone to turn to Brooke. "Where did you find her? Stepford?"

She laughed and gestured to a chair nearby. I went to sit, and Brooke threw her hand out. "No!" She cried, and I stopped to give her wide eyes. "Lean, don't sit! You'll wrinkle it."

I frowned at her disbelievingly. "Well what are we going to do all night? _Lean?"_

"Even a DVF dress can wrinkle," She told me, with no small measure of snoot. "You can sit at dinner."

I sighed loudly and rubbed my face.

"Can I braid your hair?" Brooke was suddenly bouncing with excitement. Turning to look at her warily, I crossed my arms.

"Can I sit while you do?"

She hesitated, weighing her options, and then pulled out the chair at her desk she had been leaning against. I smirked triumphantly and sauntered over, sitting with a flourish.

I felt the bristles of a brush run through my hair, though I hadn't noticed her get it. I swear, that girl moves a mile a minute. She took a breath as she combed out the tangles in my hair. "So, what are you guys' going to do about the full moon? What happens?"

I closed my eyes, relaxing as the brush smoothly ran over and over through my hair. "We shift during the full moon."

The brush paused as she tried to imagine it. After a moment, she continued. "Do you actually shift into wolves?" She gasped. "Can I watch!?"

I hesitated. "No."

"Please?" She begged, and I reworded my response.

"I meant, _no_ I don't turn into a wolf," I said, and then frowned. "You know what happens, Brooke. You showed up last month, remember? It's how you found out."

"Oh!" I didn't need to look at her to know she nodded. "You were chained up. Yeah! That was weird… is Scott going to be there?" She not so coyly asked, and I snorted.

"Yeah."

I could hear the grin in her voice. "Can I watch?" She asked again, mischievously.

"We're not going to chain _him_ up," I told her and she whined loudly.

"Not even just this once?"

I rolled my eyes as she put the brush down beside me and then began to part my hair into sections. "Brooke, he has to help me and Isaac keep control tonight. He can't just BDSM role play with you."

She purred for a moment at the thought, running her fingers absently through my hair. I shifted uncomfortably and it seemed to bring her back to herself. " _Isaac_ is coming? Come on! I have seniority! Let me come!"

"First of all," I corrected with a slight sneer. "No you don't. Second of all, I _don't_ think it's a good idea."

"Why not?" Brooke encouraged. "I'll be helpful! I can—like—cheer you on!"

I laughed and shook my head, and Brooke reached down to hold my head still. "You definitely don't know how this works," I told her, and I think she shrugged a shoulder.

"Look, momma needs to be there for her lil' turt-turt. What if something happens?"

"Like what?" I scoffed.

"Like—I don't know! I just need to protect you!"

"Brooke," I laughed. "Relax! This isn't my first time!"

"Well it's _my_ first time," She pouted with a stomp of her foot. "And I'm coming."

I sighed loudly and put my head in my hands, and Brooke lifted my head back up by my hair. "You can't."

"That sucks, because I am," She confidently informed me, tugging harshly at one of the sections as she twisted it around.

I grit my teeth and grumbled under my breath.

"I know!" She gasped, and I tried not to roll my eyes. "What if you guys use my pool house?"

"Your pool house," I flatly repeated, and she nodded enthusiastically.

"Trust me, it's way out in the boonies. We have a massive backyard, it's like four acres long, and then there are the stables, and then beyond _that_ we have a pool with a little pool house! It's hardly used because we mostly use the pool by the courts."

I paused, trying for the life of me to imagine how she could possibly have all that crap in one backyard, but I came up blank. "I don't know," I hesitantly said, and she began to wrap something around the bottom of my hair.

"Nonsense," She said. "I insist. It'll be perfect!"

"You have to show me it first. If it's not secure, we can't risk it."

"It's secure!" She insisted. "We have state of the art security through this whole place."

"You make it sound fragile," I told her and she scoffed.

"It's state of the art, not a chandelier. It's fine. It's built to protect."

"Well, we're pretty violent when we shift."

"So are robbers when they rob," She confidently told me, patting my shoulder. "Trust me. It'll be great. Finished!"

I sighed again and reached up to touch my braid. It felt heavy on my head, like it was complicated, and thick too. I frowned when my fingers brushed something soft. "What is that?"

"A flower," She casually told me, her voice farther than I expected. I turned in my seat to see she had disappeared into an adjoining room next to the closet. "I put in a few of them!"

"When?!" I exclaimed, gently prodding them again.

"Stop touching them!" She called, and I jerked my hand away with wide eyes.

"Where _are_ you?" I leaned over to try and peek into the room, but all I saw was a bright wash of warm lighting spilling from the doorway.

"My bathroom," She told me. "I'm getting makeup."

"Makeup!" I squeaked. Hesitantly, I turned back to the desk and smoothed my hands across the top of it. "Makeup…"

She emerged with a little handbag that looked like it had six different pockets and a million zippers on the outside hanging from her elbow, her hip cocked. "Let's do this," She said, and I swallowed roughly.

* * *

People were completely fooled by my appearance. They kept asking whom I was related to, trying to figure out if they knew my family, as if it made a difference.

Everyone was wearing expensive jewelry and clothes that looked spun from gold. And they might have been, for all I know. The entertainment was a live band that played classical music, something I've only seen on television.

The decorations were daunting and impressive, and I saw what Brooke meant about the backyard being massive. It looked like it went on for miles. Which, apparently, it went on for about four football fields. I don't know, it appeared larger to me, so Brooke could be playing it down.

There were a lot of trees. So many, in fact, that it was impossible to see any pool house from here at the party. Gala. Whatever.

As I looked at all the impressive decorations and impressive people, I couldn't help but let my mind drift back to where I had been at this time last year. Cooped up in a rotten hole in the side of a building in the ghetto, keeping to a strict pill diet and slinging the leftovers.

Now I'm sitting at a table with a cloth and a napkin in my lap that's softer than the dress I'm wearing, and my plate has a tiny portion of a little cube of pressed rice topped with some sort of vegetable I've never eaten and a zigzag of bright sauce across the top. I pulled the garnish off with wide eyes and Brooke giggled at my befuddlement as I tried to bite into it with my teeth and scrunched my nose when it crunched and tasted like sugar.

I was even more confused when that turned out to be the precursor to the main course. Shouldn't that be soup, or something? Or, I don't know. I guess you shouldn't take dining etiquette from a heathen like me.

As the evening stretched on, people placed bids on different pieces that I couldn't even see. Were they somehow mixed into the decorations? Were they just described to the people interested in bidding? Was it all some secret code I didn't understand? I didn't know, but no one seemed particularly interested in explaining it to me. It felt a little like that 'if you have to ask, you can't afford it' attitude, and I really started feeling tense by the time the appetizers were cleared. Now I'm just uncomfortable.

"Where are your parents?" I whispered, and Brooke kept her eyes on her dish, using a small fork and doing something to the top of the dome shaped food that made it collapse and emit a steam, like a volcano. My eyes had to be bugging in confusion as I looked down at my own dish and tapped it with my finger experimentally.

"They're sitting over there," She told me, and I looked around because she didn't point anywhere. "With the _grown-ups_."

I looked back at our table. Sitting across from me was a woman in her mid-thirties who had been giving me subtly judgmental glances through the whole evening. Actually, now that I'm looking, I realized these people were the youngest guests present besides Brooke and me.

"Are we at the kiddy table?" I realized, and Brooke nodded with a poorly hidden smile.

"Always," She said, and I heard the bitter taste in her mouth as she took a neat bite of her food.

I huffed down at my dish and pushed the food around. The orange garnish got stuck to my fork. Snarling slightly, I gave it a gentle shake and it bobbed and wiggled, but it held fast. I frowned.

"You don't think the boys will look at me differently, do you?" Brooke asked, softly.

I glanced over at her and hesitated when I saw that she was uncharacteristically collected. Her face was too blank; it looked doll-like, and fake. Like a mask.

A sudden flourish of kinship flooded me and I carefully considered my words before answering. Looking back at my plate, I violently flapped my fork to try and shake off the garnish. "They'll be surprised," I honestly told her. I don't believe in sugar-coating.

"What are you doing?" She asked, smiling at me strangely as I continued to shake my fork with a frustrated face. I froze and looked up at her with wide eyes and looked down at my fork without turning my head.

"It's stuck," I pouted, and she laughed loudly. The people at the table seemed surprised to hear it come from her, and wore small grins of their own as they looked at the pair of us.

Handing over her own fork, she continued to smile brightly. "Here. Don't worry about it."

I pressed my lips together, but inwardly, I was grinning as well. I would never tell her, but I'm glad that I decided to stay and attend this bizarre party.

* * *

When it was finally over, we borrowed a golf cart out to ride along the small road that led back to the pool house.

Turns out Brooke is an awful driver when it comes to navigating a trail. There was a lot of shouting and cursing and I almost fell out more than once. By the time we cleared the trees, I clung to any surface I could reach for dear life.

The land dipped slightly and at the bottom of it was a cute little pool that looked like something out of a landscape magazine. For as little as she claims to use it, they must have wasted buckets of cash to keep it maintained, because it looked clear and neat enough to dive into right now. Just behind it, nestled in some willow trees, was a small little structure that looked like it could comfortably house a bachelor/bachelorette.

I was studying the pool house so intently that it took me a minute to realize the golf cart had reached an alarming speed. Brooke was squeaking with effort as she narrowly avoided rocks and sticks, and despite how hard she tried she still caught a few thousand under the tires. More so than she had the entire time.

And I'd had a sneaking suspicion that up to this point she'd been hitting things on purpose just to get a reaction out of me so she could laugh maniacally, but now she was really concentrating and panicking slightly.

"Slow down!" I growled loudly, annoyed, and she laughed with a touch of hysteria laced through it.

"I would, but the laws of gravity wouldn't like it if we tried to—" the cart dipped suddenly with the trail before rocketing upward, and Brooke screamed bloody murder as we gained air.

"Jesus!" I screeched, whipping my head around. I looked just past her head and saw a rather large rock lodged in the ground whiz by and then finally it registered that we were sailing down a rather sizeable hill. "Brooke!" I squeaked, and she giggled nervously again.

" _WOO!_ It's fine! I've seen Stewart drive down here a million times, this is normal!"

" _Normal_ —" I gasped and slapped my hand onto the bar in front of me, clenching it hard enough to leave a dent. The road was shrinking fast. We were running out of time to slow, and Brooke suddenly leaned forward. "What are you doing!?"

"Lean forward!" She said through her concentration, and I suddenly laughed.

"You're crazy!"

"Hold on to your butt!" She exclaimed, as we flew onto the little drive with a screech of the tires. Brooke jerked the steering wheel and the golf cart teetered dangerously on two wheels as she took a corner. "We're comin' in hot," She warned loudly.

We landed with a loud thunk, some of the metal screeching in protest, and I think I heard something in the engine give a little at the impact. Brooke made a noise of relief as she steered the nose of the cart around the circular drive and parked it. When we finally stopped, I turned to gawk at her, dazed slightly.

She grinned widely back at me. "That's going to make for a great story," She told me, and I turned my face away, still in shock.

My eyes trailed over to the pool house and I missed Brooke stepping out of the cart. She smoothed her dress down behind me. It was shorter than mine, and I think she'd called it _tea_ length, or something like that. All I know is that it's baby blue and it makes me think of Alice in Wonderland, especially with the black ribbon in her hair.

I turned to look at her as she casually made her way to the entrance of the pool house and I slid out of my seat, looking over her outfit.

"Oh!" I realized, and she turned to look at me questioningly. "I know why you look so weird!"

Brooke frowned at me. "Hey," she sensitively said, touching her chest. "Be careful with what you say. I might cry myself to sleep tonight."

I laughed at her dramatic warning, thoroughly amused that she seemed to be one hundred percent serious as she watched me warily. "Your ribbon covers the green streak in your hair."

"Oh," She realized, touching it. "Yeah. Grandma would turn in her grave if I showed up to an event with a neon green chunk of hair hanging out."

"Uncouth," I jokingly played along, and she clicked her heels together and stood daintily. It looked surprisingly proper, like she had actually been taught to stand that way. And she probably had. Then, she tilted her head creepily at me and smiled.

"Sometimes I think about getting a tattoo on my face." She pointed to her cheek. "Right here. A big fat spider."

"Or cheetah print," I suggested with a smirk. Brooke gasped and covered her mouth, her mind visibly spinning at the possibilities.

"A heart," She said, pressing her finger right below her eye. "Or _disappointment_ in large block letters," She stretched a curling trail from one side of her forehead to the other.

"Puppet lines," I mimicked the lines with my fingers on my chin, and Brooke hummed lowly.

"Yessss," She growled, grabbing at her chin. I breathed a hesitant laugh when she seemed to unfocus her eyes and envision it. "Really, though… That would be amazing."

We brainstormed for another few moments before she turned to the pool house and started the tour. It was really nice. Everything inside was tastefully decorated. It was dark, and I was surprised to see a thin layer of dust coating things. Brooke explained that they kept the outside maintained, but most of the maids found the pool house creepy, so they didn't force them out here unless they knew that they needed to use it.

"If we break something, the alarm won't send a helicopter of assassins to kill us, right?" I joked, and Brooke grinned at me.

"No, just a pack of guard dogs."

I snorted flatly at her and she snickered, enjoying her own joke. "Cute," I told her, and she batted her lashes at me.

"Thanks, turt." Then she pointed over at the alarm she'd messed with when we entered. "I turned it off," she told me. "We could blow this place up and no one would know."

I raised an eyebrow at her and she paused.

"That might have been an exaggeration."

Closing my eyes with a smile, I nodded at her. "I know," I told her.

Brooke absently pulled her phone out of her top and I snorted at the hiding spot she'd stashed it in. Such a cliché girl move for her to make; I was sort of surprised she hadn't attempted something more creative or bold. "Christ on a bike! It's already eight-thirty," She noted, and looked up at me. "Should we head back out so you can go get the boys?"

"Probably," I agreed, in the unconcerned aloof way that I have. "I'm sure they're confused why I haven't come back yet, actually."

* * *

Even though the golf cart almost didn't manage to putter the rest of the way back, we made it in decent enough time to have me out of the dress and back in my short-overalls and boots, ready to return home and fetch the boys by nine o'clock.

When I showed up, Isaac was standing in the kitchen. He wandered out with a bowl of chips when he heard the front door.

"What happened to you?" He asked, a chip hanging gracefully from his mouth. It plopped into the bowl and I scrunched my nose at his slobbish behavior.

"Gala," I vaguely explained, and he frowned at me as I started toward the hallway. I paused. "Brooke," I told him, and his mouth popped open in understanding as he nodded at me.

"You look like a _girl_ ," He told me as I walked away, and I turned to pretend to throw something at him. Isaac ducked and nearly dropped the bowl of chips into the floor, still spilling most of them, and then whipped around when he realized I had only pretended to throw something. He scowled at my laughter and I stopped in the hall to turn to him apologetically.

"Here," I told him, covering my fist like I was seriously going to toss him something. He settled down and opened his hand to catch it, but when I swung my arm, I just let my middle finger pop up to him and pretended to be as shocked as he was and let it hang there for a moment. "Whoops! That's not a napkin…"

"Screw you, Carmichael," He bitterly told me, and I winked at him.

"By the way, congratulations on finally learning how to duck!" Fake enthusiasm laced my voice and Isaac laughed insincerely and loudly behind me as I finally went to open Stiles' door.

The boys greeted me casually from their seats. Scott was lounging on Stiles' bed and Stiles was turning around from his desk. Scott's face broke into a wide grin and Stiles looked shell-shocked, immediately standing from his seat.

While Stiles bumped his knees into the top of his desk knocked some things over, Scott grinned approvingly at me.

"Wow," Scott drew out. "You look pretty!"

Stiles made a noise as he struggled to pick up the items from his desk whilst still looking at me. "H-Hey babe," He stammered, sounding extremely confused, and Scott's eyes widened at Stiles unintentional term of endearment.

I looked at him strangely as Scott swallowed a smile and covered his mouth with his hand, smothering his laugh. Stiles tried to set a cup of pens down on the desk without looking and ended up placing it on the edge where it immediately fell again.

He breathed out a pained wheeze, his hands on his hips, and ran a hand over his hair. "Eyelashes," He whispered under his breath, and I raised my eyebrows at him.

Scott cleared his throat to cover another laugh, choking slightly, and Stiles glanced between us awkwardly.

"So," I nonchalantly chirped. "I found a place for us to go tonight."

"Where's that?" Sheriff asked, having emerged from his bedroom. I turned to look at him and as soon as I turned my head I heard something being thrown across the room behind me.

When I looked back, Scott was rubbing at a spot on his head and Stiles looked like a deer in headlights.

"Whoa," Sheriff commented, resting his hand on my shoulder to turn me so he could look me over properly. "Is it prom already?"

I smirked at him and shook my head. "I went some kind of gala at the St. James' place tonight."

His eyebrows shot up and I heard Scott mutter _gala_ in confusion behind me. I didn't even to turn around to know that Stiles shrugged at him, and I shook my head at the Sheriff again, this time more telling than before. "That bad, huh?" He knowingly smirked, and I pulled my face into an expressive wince. Sheriff laughed and patted my shoulders before letting go to cross his arms at me. "I didn't realize you knew the St. James," He said, and something in his tone seemed suspicious. Or, not suspicious, just… careful. Assessing.

"I wouldn't say I _know_ them. I'm friends with their daughter, Brooke. I've talked to the maids more than I have her parents."

This time Stiles spoke up. "Maids?" He asked, mildly surprised.

I turned to cock a wry eyebrow at him but the Sheriff stole my attention away.

"I know her mother," He told me, and I was careful to keep my face blank. Apparently Sheriff found this interesting, because he prodded me a little harder. "She's a pill."

I snorted loudly and the boys seemed to shift anxiously behind me, eager to get me alone and pry for details. The Sheriff grinned at me.

"You disagree?" He asked, and I tried to pull a noncommittal frown as I shrugged a shoulder.

"She's a bitch."

The Sheriff barked out a loud laugh and I raised my eyebrows with a small smile playing at my lips. "Are you headed back over there tonight?" He curiously asked, satisfied with my honest answer, and I looked back at the boys and widened my eyes slightly so they knew to go along with it.

"Actually, yeah," I said, and Stiles immediately wanted to shake his head, but turned it into some sort of enthusiastic twitch instead. Scott looked at his friend hesitantly as I continued. "Brooke's got this pool house tucked way in the back of their property, far away from the stifling gaze of the moguls and their fancy garnishes. It should be fun."

The Sheriff sighed loudly and said, "Just make sure to stay out of trouble," like it was asking us a lot. "I don't want a call later saying that you've burned the place down, understand? I can't afford to be sued by them. We'd all be in the streets then," He looked down at me meaningfully and I pursed my lips at him. "You know Stiles couldn't last a day in the streets."

"Hey!" He piped up. We ignored him.

"He's too delicate," I said. "They'd steal his jeep and break his pride."

Snorting darkly, Stiles muttered, "What pride?"

I laughed in surprise and the Sheriff grinned down at me, chuckling at his son. "You should wear makeup more often," He quietly told me. "It suits you."

As he left, I raised a wry eyebrow at the boys and shook my head. "I didn't do this," I told them, pointing at my face. "I don't even know what the crap she put on my eyelashes is called."

"Mascara," Stiles automatically supplied, and the room grew quiet as everyone turned to him.

Isaac had filled the Sheriff's spot just in time to catch that part of the conversation, and for the second time that night, he said, "What happened to you?" Though this time, it was sarcastically pitying.

"Oh, please," I snorted at him. "We lived with Erica. Don't pretend you don't know shit about makeup."

He sighed and nodded almost regretfully. "She's right."

"Great," Scott quipped in an uncharacteristic streak of sass. "So we all love makeup. Now, can we talk about what's important?"

"The shoes?" Stiles smartly asked, and Scott shot him a dirty look even as I laughed. Stiles smirked at me appreciatively and winked, ducking from his friend's swat.

"You don't _seriously_ want us to go back to Brooke's house, do you?" Scott asked, worried. I crossed my arms with a sigh.

"I don't know, it's better than an abandoned warehouse."

Immediately, the boys all clamped up defensively, as if that's exactly what they were intending to suggest. After a beat passed, Scott dubiously asked, "Is it?"

I snickered. "Trust me. It's great."

"Great," Stiles skeptically repeated, his eyebrows raised. He looked back at Scott. "Did you hear that? It's great. I vote _yes_."

"Guys," Scott hesitantly tried, and Isaac munched on a chip beside me.

"Is there actually a pool?" He wanted to know.

I nodded.

He looked back at Scott. "I'm in." Stiles pumped his fist triumphantly and I bit my lip. "I haven't swum since I moved out of my house."

"So it's settled," I cautiously suggested, looking to Scott. "We're going to the pool house?"

He looked like he felt it was a bad idea. But then he looked at our eager faces, and he sighed. "Okay," He relented, shrugging a shoulder. "But I don't think we're going to be swimming. And we're bringing the chains."

I groaned loudly and Isaac touched his nose. "Savannah gets the head gear!"

" _Head_ gear?" I repeated, alarmed, and Scott shook his head.

"We don't use that stuff."

"Because we're not _crazy_ ," Stiles nodded, and Isaac sighed in relief.

"Oh, good."

I grinned wryly. "Speak for yourself." He rolled his eyes. "Brooke's pretty crazy," I explained, and everyone made a noise of agreement.

* * *

The boys wouldn't stop making noises of astonishment when we pulled up. Stiles had to be convinced to let one of the workers go park his jeep, and he barely let me pry the keys from his hands. He still had his fingers clutched tightly, as if holding onto them even after the jeep was stuck safely away somewhere.

"I keep waiting for someone to come up and call me old sport," Stiles quietly told me as the maid rushed around us and tried to take our jackets. When she reached for Scott's bag with the chains, he kind of flipped.

"No!" He'd exclaimed, and the maid jerked back in fright. The room quieted to look at the commotion as he shifted and cleared his throat awkwardly. "I—I mean it's okay. I've got it," He told her, tucking it protectively against his chest.

"Of course, sir," She timidly agreed, and scurried away like a little mouse.

Stiles raised his eyebrows at him. "Subtle, dude. Next time just back hand her."

"Or give her a sock," Isaac joked, causing me to bark out a loud, surprised laugh. When Stiles and Scott just looked on in confusion, I leaned in to make my voice high with him and we chorused, "Dobby is a _free_ elf!"

"Is it always like this here?" Scott asked, as Madeline escorted us through the side halls to the back of the house. I'd asked her to take less conspicuous route to the golf carts, and she kindly obliged, commenting that my hair had held up nicely through the night. She didn't even ask who the boys were, which struck me as odd, but I suppose she's trained not to be directly nosy.

"Pretty much," I told him, and turned to see him reaching out to one of the paintings on the wall. Stiles reached out and snatched his hand down, shaking his head quietly at him when he looked back. They continued along after us and I turned around when Madeline opened the door for us.

"There's only one cart, I'm afraid," Madeline told us, looking over us apprehensively. "Shall I get refreshments for those who wait?"

"Oh," I looked awkwardly at the other three and they all seemed to shrug back. "I—I think we can manage, Madeline, but uh—thank you."

She didn't seem to follow. "Are you sure?"

I opened my mouth, but suddenly a cart came tearing into the little path in front of their shed.

Brooke was still wearing her dress and she popped her hands up with a squeal, patting the cart that had gained a few nicks and dents. "You made it!" She cheered, and Madeline took her leave quietly behind us.

"Uh—" Stiles turned to look at me. "I think I'll take _that_ cart," he said, pointing at the clean, blemish free one.

"Me too," Isaac quickly called, pulling Stiles back by the collar to claim the driver's seat.

I traded an unimpressed look with Brooke as Scott seemed to deflate.

Brooke grinned at Scott wolfishly, patting the seat beside her. "Right here, buttercup," She cooed to him, and he looked at me in mild desperation.

I simply held my hand out for the bag. "You can follow us on foot if you want," I told him, and Scott all but collapsed in relief. "Or even go ahead. It's just on this path."

He passed me the bag as Stiles climbed into his passenger seat and bickered with Isaac behind us, and Brooke pouted with her arms crossed in the golf cart. I hooked the bag over my shoulder and Scott pointed questioningly at the path. "There?"

"Follow it all the way down," Brooke told him, throwing her arm across the back of the seat and suddenly pushing on the gas to scare him into stepping backwards. "We'll race!"

My mouth went dry and my eyes bugged as Scott laughed, assuming she was joking. Going with his reaction, I forced out a laugh, and to my relief, Brooke joined. She turned to me with her face still lit up in laughter, and I climbed in beside her.

We were still laughing, and I could tell that the others were finding it strange that she hadn't stopped yet. I'd barely stepped foot into the cart and she punched the gas, nearly running Scott over as she tore out of the drive like a maniac and caused me to fall on my ass. "Last one down has to wear a speedo!"

"What?" Scott and Stiles yelped, their voices already distant.

The strap of the bag slipped from my hand because I hadn't had a good grip on it. I tried to catch it, but gravity and probably a few other laws of physics grabbed hold of the heavy bag, dragging it down and out of the cart. The back of the cart lurched slightly when the wheels went over it, and I yelled at Brooke in exasperation.

She didn't even acknowledge me as she bulleted down the track. Behind us, I heard the sound of Isaac awkwardly peeling out of the little drive, and Stiles yelled—either to cheer him on or to tell him to slow down, I couldn't be sure.

"Suckers!" Brooke giddily exclaimed, and she was so exhilarated that I had to grin at her carefree attitude. I swear, her nonstop hunt for fun is contagious. I found myself getting into it as Brooke navigated the path with a little more ease than Isaac did, being that she'd been down it numerous times already tonight, and she whooped loudly.

When we started through the trees I could hear the boys start to chatter about how expansive Brooke's property was, and I looked at her to try and gauge if she was feeling self-conscious. And honestly, she might have been overcompensating a little for that very reason. She was going _pretty_ hard right now, taking the race very seriously even as she made little race car noises and smoothly avoided the bumps in the road.

"How are we doing?" She asked me, glancing briefly from the road to look at me.

I looked back at their cart and waved in a taunt at the boys, and Stiles reached over to smack Isaac's shoulder as he rammed into a stick and their cart stuttered in its path.

"We're doing pretty good," I confidently told her.

She laughed loudly and leaned forward slightly as we crested the hill and the trees thinned. "We're so going to win!"

I didn't even have the chance to respond when we both spotted him at the same time. Scott, down at the bottom of the hill, somehow already waiting in front of the pool house like the smug little shit he is. He actually sat on a stump in the front garden of the pool house with his legs and arms crossed, the bag laid casually next to him.

"What!?" Brooke shrieked, and I shook my head with a loud laugh.

"Never bring a golf cart to a—"

Suddenly, the boys' cart made an appearance beside us. I turned to see the nose of Isaac's cart and saw Stiles pumping his arm to egg him on.

I patted Brooke's arm purposefully and hollered at her to hurry up. I mean, before it was just sort of cute to encourage her, but now it's serious. We can't lose to _Isaac and Stiles._

Apparently, my girl Brooke isn't afraid to fight dirty. The path we were racing along wasn't very big, and since we were going downhill, all we could really do is steer. And steer she did. She moved our cart every so slightly to the right, ensuring that the boys either had to somehow speed their cart up or pull back entirely, lest they veer off the path and attempt to beat us off road—which they _won't_ , because they'd definitely lose.

The road was quickly disappearing. Eventually, after much _persuasion_ (ahem: close calls), Isaac pulled back and we continued sailing down the hill in front.

With our spot in second confidently secured, Brooke leaned forward to gain more speed and told me to do the same. Blame it on the full moon—blame it on the sweet taste of victory, or the anticipation of Stiles and Isaac's faces when they lose—or, even blame it on the prospect of forcing one of them into a speedo—but damn it, I leaned forward.

When we approached the corner that we had to turn to make it into the pool house, Brooke pulled an interesting approach. She turned, but she also steered the cart so that it sailed straight towards Scott. He had stood up as we got closer, presumably to greet us, and turned to pick up the bag. As such, he was bent over a little with his butt presented like a target.

"Swiggity swooty, I'm comin' for dat booty!" Brooke maniacally chanted, and I burst out a shocked laugh.

"Brooke, don't!" I exclaimed, loudly enough to alarm Scott, and he turned just in time to see Brooke jerk the wheel at the last second and sail safely past him.

We crashed into the bushes.

The cart was stuck, and a few branches had stabbed me in the arms and face, but other than that it was all right. I felt my heart racing and the tips of my fingers burned familiarly while the others shouted behind us and I heard Isaac's cart pull to a stop on the road.

Scott was at Brooke's side, grabbing her shoulder to pull her gingerly back and look her over. "Are you okay?" He worriedly asked, and she fell back limply. Scott froze as she slumped over, propping her up.

"Brooke," I snapped, annoyed, and she peeped an eye open. Scott sighed in relief and Brooke grinned widely.

"Did we win?"

I smacked her shoulder and she flinched away with a loud whine. "You idiot!"

"Savannah!" Stiles called as he rushed toward me. I pushed out of the cart angrily, huffing as I stomped around the side. "What the hell happened!?"

I growled and Isaac pointed over my shoulder. "For the record, she cheated. I'm not wearing a speedo."

It stole the anger from me. I cracked a smile and turned to see Brooke had her arm slung over Scott's shoulder as if she was injured. Stiles' hand grasped my side and pulled me into a side hug, and I started to tell him I was fine but he pressed a kiss to the top of my head before I could speak. I popped my mouth shut at the unexpectedly sweet gesture, and Brooke cooed in admiration.

She bent her head toward Scott and bounced a little. "Me, too!"

Scott rolled his eyes and leaned away from her a little with a loud sigh.

I squeezed Stiles' side as he shot a dirty look her way. "You're never getting in a cart with her again," He told me, and I laughed.

Brooke puffed her cheeks out and I pointed at her ankle.

"Are you actually hurt?"

She sighed slightly. "I might have taken it too far," She sheepishly admitted, and I put my face in my hand as the others mumbled under their breath. "But hey—it'll make for a great story!"

That's the second time she's said that tonight. "Okay," Scott said, holding the bag out to me. "Let's go inside before it gets any later."

* * *

We were in the pool house now. Brooke had turned some music on loud to make it seem like we were partying instead of—well, _you know_ , and the topic of what exactly the others had unwittingly stepped into was brought up.

"So… you're, like, loaded?" Isaac asked, as if that set her apart from us somehow. Brooke cleared her throat and casually scratched her eyebrow.

"Well, my parents have the money."

"Oh, that is such a rich-kid thing to say," I teasingly pointed out, and she sighed, adjusting the icepack on her ankle. She was propped up on one of the couches with her foot resting on a pillow, but she sat up so she could watch everything going on.

Stiles was working on getting my chains untangled as Scott wrapped Isaac in his chains, focusing mostly on restraining his arms.

"Well I can't help it," She told us, pouting slightly. Isaac rolled his eyes and Scott pressed his lips together. Stiles looked up at me and I softly shook my head at him, so he kept his mouth shut and refocused on my chains. "It's not like I'm any different…"

"What about the people who—greeted us," Scott asked, unsure of what to call them. "The maids?"

"Yeah, and those guys who took my jeep," Stiles suddenly perked up and turned to look at Brooke imploringly. "That one kept eyeing it! I saw him!"

Brooke smirked. "They're not going to steal your jeep."

"The one with the mustache might!" He exclaimed. "I don't trust his little rat-face."

I chuckled and Brooke gasped and nodded. "Oh, you're talking about Sergio."

" _Sergio_ ," Stiles all but hissed, his eyes narrowed. "Yeah, he _looks_ like a Sergio."

He looked back at me and paused at my scrunched eyebrows, but I just shook my head and grinned.

"Is that what you were going to ask, cutie? Were you worried that Sergio would steal Stiles' jeep?"

Scott looked back at Brooke in surprise, and then overcame it rather quickly. It seemed he was adjusting to the nicknames she gave him, and she noticed too because she only grew more flirtatious as she sank down into the cushions slightly. "I just wanted to make sure we don't get any surprises. They won't show up to try and—you know. Give us refreshments or anything. Right?"

"The maids think it's creepy out here. I think it's the willow trees."

"Really? I would have said the vines," Isaac thoughtfully mused, tugging experimentally on his chains. Scott was apparently unsatisfied, because he went to tighten them some.

Stiles told me to get comfortable. I raised an eyebrow at him. "You'll be sitting there a while," He said. "Unless you _like_ when your feet fall asleep?"

"Oh," I stretched my legs out and crossed my arms over my stomach like I was wearing a straightjacket. Last time we did this, we found that having my arms at my sides gave me too much of an advantage. "You'll still scratch my nose for me, right?" I teased, as the others began to discuss the likelihood of the maids keeping their traps shut about us being here.

Stiles paused from gathering the chains in his hands to glance over thoughtfully, considering me. "Maybe," He smoothly said. "If you're good."

My eyebrows rocketed and he paused as he reflected on what he said.

"Wait—I didn't mean for that to sound dirty, but…"

I laughed and he grinned back, but then something Scott was saying caught my attention.

"You should just be glad that this isn't their first full moon," Scott told Brooke, brushing his pants off as he stood from Isaac. "The first one is always the hardest."

"What does that mean?" Brooke asked interestedly, her face and voice totally void of any mockery or nosiness. Only curiosity. "What's it like for you guys?"

"It's—" Scott looked down, his brow furrowed as he thought. "It's hard to explain."

Stiles started wrapping the chains around me as I listened, starting at my shoulders and moving down.

"Imagine like you haven't had a drop of water to drink for weeks," Isaac said, "And everything you see is a cold can of Coca-Cola. All you want is that drink. You can't think past your thirst and nothing that anyone does will calm you down."

"Well," Stiles tilted his head critically as he tried to tighten my chains without hurting me. I nudged him to silently tell him to knock it off and just do it, and he glanced over his shoulder at Isaac. "There's more violence than that. You guys are more like escaped convicts, and everyone you see is the judge that put you away."

"Or the Sheriff," I mused, and Stiles gave me a dry look, finally cinching the chains tightly, which is what I had been aiming for when I made the comment. I smartly blew him a kiss and he pursed his lips at me.

"Or the Sheriff," He agreed.

"Basically," Scott summed, turning to look at Brooke again. "It's a frenzy. There's no rational thought, it's pretty much impossible to control unless you have an anchor, and sometimes… well, it's just easy for things to get violent if we're not careful."

Brooke sighed heavily. "That sucks," she simply said, and I snorted at the plainness of her response.

"Yeah," Isaac dryly agreed.

"That's why no one can know," Scott told her. "It's really important that we're alone out here."

"Baby," She said, ducking her chin at him. "Relax."

Stiles scoffed and Scott actually sighed in frustration and turned away, his hands on his hips.

"It's also important that your maids keep their mouths shut," Stiles noted, pointing at Brooke as he stood to admire his handiwork. I stuck my tongue out at him as he observed me.

"No one can know," Isaac added. Yes. Layer it on, fellas. She doesn't get the picture yet.

"I know what it's like to have a secret, you guys," She reminded them, and everyone took a moment to let that comment sink in as we looked around and thought about where she lived, and where exactly we currently were.

"Yeah," Scott gently agreed, looking at Brooke with a sudden ounce of respect. "I guess you do."

"I mean, I'm a _Belieber_ ," She suddenly blurted, and looked around miserably as she shook her head to herself. "Do you know even know what it's like to have to hide that from people?"

"Yeah." I dryly pursed my lips at the others, my tone flat and dripping with sarcasm. "That must be a hard secret to deal with."

Brooke nodded. "It is," she lamented.

I shook my head and listened as Isaac, being the smart ass that he is, began to pepper Brooke with questions about the challenges she faces as a Belieber in hiding.

I couldn't help but chuckle and I wondered if Isaac was just doing it to distract himself. Even Scott was amused, and piped up with a question every now and then. I have no idea if Brooke was aware that they were mocking her, but either way she seemed content with the attention, so I let it slide.

As the evening wore on and the moon grew higher, conversations became more strained. Tempers were riled more easily. The atmosphere grew tense. I felt inexplicably annoyed, like everything in this place grated my nerves, while at the same time, I was restless.

It's the usual routine. I always grow restless and agitated when the full moon is near. I'm actually surprised that I wasn't more restless this week, but I think the fight with Stiles has clogged my emotional drain, and now that it's been _pulled_ … I'm feeling hypersensitive to everything.

I was hit with an irrational sense of longing. All this talk about my brother and my past, drudging up feelings that I thought had been long-since buried and locked away… it was getting to me.

I looked up at Stiles, the crease of my neck warm slightly because apparently I'd been sitting with my head hung for a lot longer than I realized.

"Stiles," I said, my voice rougher than usual. Brooke turned to look at me in concern as Stiles quickly came to my side.

"What's wrong?" He asked, looking me over.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, and he paused.

"You—called me over," He said, looking around. "I don't—"

"No," I snapped. "Why are you trying so hard to help me?"

I think Scott suggested to Brooke that she go stick her ankle in the pool as a way to distract her and give us some privacy. Also, Isaac was growing restless and starting to growl under his breath. He didn't give her much of a choice, lifting her from the couch as Stiles lowered his voice to answer me.

"What? It's the full moon, Savannah—"

" _No,"_ I growled, my eyes flashing. Stiles wasn't even intimidated as he continued to frown at me. "My brother. Rex. Why?"

Understanding passed through his face as he sat back on his heels and settled in front of me. "Because," He frowned. "I—you… I think it's important," He finally said, and I squirmed slightly as my heart rate continued climbing. I could feel my claws biting into my sides and the tips of my ears growing.

"Scoot back," I told him, and he immediately obliged. "I want—" I broke off with a grunt and Stiles started forward. "Don't!" I panted, and he hovered in place, conflicted. "Just… stop. I changed my mind."

"What?" He started forward again and I growled savagely. He backed up and threw his hands in the air. "Make up your mind!"

"I'm sorry!" I bit out. "I'm—trying to say—I changed my mind. I want to see Rex again," I panted, and Stiles' face shifted into shocked understanding, his mouth parting and shoulders falling. "I want to see him."

Stiles looked at me as I panted, his eyes roving over my face, and he nodded. "Okay."

I sighed, almost in relief, but I was still wound tight as a violin string and I couldn't manage to get comfortable.

"Uh—" Stiles started, and reached up to tug awkwardly at his ear. "You know, I'm glad to hear you say that, actually… because—"

I glared at him and he hesitated and cleared his throat.

"Uh, because I sort of already called Maria? A few days ago, actually, and we're going to lunch soon. To see them. I was gonna… I mean… I thought, you know, if you saw him then…" Stiles looked completely sick as he watched me, unsure of what to do with himself. "Maybe you'd just have to see him."

I blinked rapidly, the teeth in my mouth growing jagged and my control slipping as I squeezed my eyes and tried to calm down. He knows Maria. He knows her by _name?_ I attempted to speak, but it came out as a snarl, and Stiles sighed uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry," He said, and then he shook his head. "Wait. No I'm not."

"You—" I managed. "You called Maria?"

"Well—" Stiles' shoulders slumped and he glanced away. "Yeah…"

I took in a breath again and looked up at him. A moment passed, and I smiled.

Stiles nearly exploded with relief. "Oh, god, you look so creepy when you grin right now," He breathed, shaking his head. "But I'm so glad you don't want to rip my throat out."

"Well," I said, my voice high as I tilted my head, and Stiles lifted his hands in exasperation.

" _What!_ But I—I did a good thing!"

"It's not you," I dismissed with a shake of my head. "It's your—neck. It's so vulnerable," my voice sputtered so deeply into a growl that the last word was almost unintelligible, and Stiles gave me a sarcastic nod.

"Oh, thanks. Very sweet. Thank you."

I grinned again and he visibly suppressed a shudder. "I also want to kiss you, if that's any consolation."

He considered it. "It's a little better," He decided, and I laughed slightly. "But I think… for my own safety—"

"Wait," I finished with a nod. "We should wait on the kiss."

"Yep," he quietly agreed, and I smiled at him again. I couldn't help it. He was relieved and happy, I knew, but I think my smile really was sort of creeping him out right now, because he also sort of cringed.

A beat passed where I thought about the prospect of seeing Rex again. My heart picked up in anticipation. Would he be bigger? I bet he would be. _Will_ be. When I see him. Oh, god, am I nervous?

"I like you," He suddenly declared, and I grew still in surprise.

Slowly, I blinked. I looked at him, unsure of what was causing this sudden uncertainty of his. "I know that, Stiles."

"Okay," He breathed. "I just wanna be clear on that. Because things have been... uh, you know."

"Yeah," I said, and he nodded.

"Like, a lot," He said. "I really like you a lot."

My heart sputtered and I grinned again. "I know," I panted.

He nodded and shifted slightly. "Well, do you like me?"

I laughed. "Oh, my god, Stiles. Yes. I l—" I blinked and ducked my head, gnashing my teeth together and trying to regain control. Forcing myself to look back up, I took a deep breath with my eyes closed. When I opened them again, my sight had become a little less strained, and I was able to look him in the eye when I said, "I like you."

He sighed in satisfaction and gave a firm nod. "Good. Don't do that Han Solo crap," He told me, shaking his head bitterly. "Say it back."

I laughed at him and rolled my eyes, desperately wanting to point out that he'd just made _me_ Han Solo and _himself_ Princess Leia in this analogy. "Promise," I said instead, and he nodded approvingly. I paused for a moment. "I'm sorry."

We both knew I meant about…. How I handled the fight. And how I had been treating him. And just, everything. The smile on his face fell gradually and he shook his head. "Don't. It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Savannah…" The words couldn't seem to come to him, so he just shook his head instead. "It's okay."

I sighed. "Good."

"You two have the _weird_ est conversations," Isaac grunted from nearby, and we turned to look at him in surprise. We both sort of forgot he was even here. "You're both so vague. I don't see how you do it."

Simultaneously, we both gave him a shrug.

Isaac snorted loudly. "Now you're just doing it on purpose."

* * *

 _ **Soo, there it is! This chapter was a TON of fun. We got to see a little insight into Brooke's world... The fight has been reconciled... Savannah was dressed up... There was some major summer fun... Rex will be visiting soon! Or, they'll be meeting up with him soon, I mean! And we're officially about to start the third month! Next month will hopefully have like A LOT of Rex in it, we'll see how everything pans out. But I'm anxious to draw the summer to a close. Do you guys have anything else you're desperate to see before season three starts up? Let me know! And leave a review really quickly, if you've got the time :) Thanks!**_


	62. VelociraptorTurkeyPossum

The axe split through the wood so sharply, small splinters blasted from it like it had been lined with miniature explosives. The axe was buried deep into the stump I used to set the blocks of wood on, and once the larger block was split and I kicked the smaller pieces aside, Isaac quickly deposited the next block into my hand and took three large steps back.

Farther away, Stiles and Scott stood by the jeep and gossiped like a bunch of old ladies. They must have been under the impression that I couldn't hear them, or that I didn't care what they said.

"How long has she been doing this?" Scott asked in a concerned tone. Stiles stood next to him with his hands on his hips and paused to consider the question.

"Uh… pretty much all morning."

Scott looked at him in surprise just as the axe swung down to chop the block in half. Stiles glanced at him and sighed with a shrug, and I nudged the two logs aside. As they dropped to the pile, Isaac skittered forward to deliver the next block before making a hasty retreat. "So she's taking it pretty hard, then?" Scott wanted to know, still standing near the jeep some fifteen yards away.

Stiles sighed. He shook his head. "I think she's gone through about two trees worth of wood, and she shows no signs of slowing down, so… you tell me," He glanced at Scott with a wry expression, his eyebrows raised, and Scott's sigh echoed Stiles' previous one as he turned to watch me.

 _Chop!_ Isaac skittered away, dumping the two smaller logs into the pile at his feet as I paused to wipe the sweat off my brow.

Scott shifted and drew in a thoughtful breath. "She does realize that none of us have a fireplace, right?"

Stiles was quietly nodding before he had even finished asking. "Yeah," He shortly said. "Apparently that's not an issue."

"Well… what's it going to be used for?"

Stiles turned to him, his arms now crossed. "The pyre that Maria's body will lay on top of."

Scott's eyebrows rocketed and he whipped around to look at me. _Chop!_ He looked back at Stiles. "Seriously?"

Stiles immediately shook his head with a hasty laugh. "No, no way." He paused, his smirk growing worried as I split one log with another jagged shard of wood in anger, and Isaac shielded his face from the splintered blow-back. Stiles cleared his throat. "I mean… probably not," He uncertainly clarified, glancing at his best friend with a shrug. "Nah."

"I should go talk to her," Scott suddenly decided. He stumbled as Stiles lunged forward to yank him backwards by the elbow.

"No!" Stiles exclaimed. I glanced back at them as Scott looked at him in surprise and annoyance at being yanked around. Stiles vehemently shook his head. "You don't wanna do that. Trust me, wait until she's—" He gestured vaguely. "You know. Out of werewolf juice."

Scott's eyebrow twitched. "But that's never going to happen."

Stiles let out an uneasy sigh-laugh and turned back to me, crossing his arms again. "It might…" Scott opened his mouth to deny it again, and Stiles shook his head. "Three times, Scott. Three times, Maria cancelled lunch."

Scott's face was flooded with sympathy as he focused on Stiles' face and glanced at me, while I continued to chop wood, and Isaac continued to help. I continued to pretend not to hear.

"The first two, I could explain it away as coincidence." Stiles shook his head knowingly. "I mean, you know. I tried, for her sake. But then… three times, Maria cancelled. That's hard to explain. Twice, that's coincidental, but three—"

"That's a pattern," Scott finished and he looked back at me in the sort of sympathy that always seemed to make Scott look about fifteen years older than he is. "That's what you guys always say."

Stiles silently stood beside Scott, watching me chop wood, like some pissy middle-aged lumberjack. Letting me vent the complex feelings that coursed through me however I needed to.

Scott and Stiles watched me for a few minutes before Scott spoke up again. "What were her reasons for canceling?"

Stiles sighed and shrugged a shoulder. "Same thing, different stories. Errands. Car trouble. I think the last one really twisted the knife though." He looked over at Scott. "Family emergency."

Scott sucked in a sympathetic wince, and Stiles rolled his eyes as he nodded, and the axe came down so hard this time that it finally split the stump below.

"That one really made her feel like an outsider. Like she wasn't, and didn't deserve to be apart of his family anymore. Or worse, like she never had been."

And they continued to quietly discuss what I may or may not be feeling, what they could and couldn't do about it, whether anything would or wouldn't change. And I continued to pretend not to hear them.

* * *

In the end, we decided to use the wood I chopped for a small bonfire on the beach. The ocean was a fairly short trip, about sixty-five minutes west. Fifty depending on who's driving. Stiles tried to play it up for me. He bragged about his surfing skills, and told me he would teach me if I wanted.

I tried to play along. Really, I did. When we got out there, it turned out that the water was too choppy and the sun too low to attempt surfing. Even for a self-proclaimed pro and a werewolf. Stiles apologized profusely, the guilt seeming to sit a little too heavy on his shoulders, and I told him several times not to worry about it.

My reassurances did little to assuage his guilt. Finally, I did what any good girlfriend would do, and I suggested an alternative that could benefit everyone. We'd throw a party to celebrate the end of the year. In a week, we would return to the beach, but we would invite the entire high school, and we would make it early enough to surf if we wanted. Brooke would be all over that idea. And, as Stiles pointed out, so would Lydia.

So after a long night of failing to scare each other with spooky stories around the campfire (hello, ghosts? Yes, this is Beacon Hills speaking. We win.) we all rode back and made it home around midnight.

I lay on the foot of Stiles' bed that night with the flower he picked for me from the gas station along I-5, which was a surprisingly sweet gesture for him to make. I would even venture to say it was out of character. He's trying really hard for me lately, like because I've been so let down lately he thinks he needs to work twice as hard to cheer me up.

"Sand," Stiles loudly declared as he trudged into his room in socked feet, dramatically collapsing face first into the bed beside me with a large bounce. His arm draped across my stomach and I laughed as he automatically poked at my side without even hesitating, prodding the spots he knew from experience to be especially ticklish. "Sand everywhere."

I let the flower safely drop to the floor. Feeling unusually affectionate for this boy who tries too hard for me, I sat up in bed and climbed over top him, straddling the back of his legs as I ran my hands up his back. He perked up when I slid my hands under his layered shirt and jacket. "Really? Go on," I teased, and pulled my hands out.

"Uhhh," He cautiously sputtered, as my hands reached around his shoulders to peel his jacket from him. "Uh, Savannah?"

I tossed his jacket back on the floor and then set to work on helping him to shed his shirt, humming lowly in response. Stiles' heart rate accelerated as I gently ran my fingers up his side in order to lift the hem, and his breathing hitched when I ran my nails back over the spots that I tickled.

With his shirt raised up just under his arms, I continued to run my fingers in long patterns down his back and sides using feather-light pressure and smiled at the goose bumps that trailed behind me. Then, just as before, I ran my nails back down the same track to soothe the tickle I caused. Where before his breathing grew faster in excitement, between my gentle motions and the quiet of the mild summer rain that started outside, his breathing grew deep and relaxed.

Suddenly I reached under him to rake my nails across his chest, pressing against his back with a smirk as he gasped in surprise. "You're not falling asleep, are you?"

He groggily grunted in response, sounding just like a caveman and drawing a laugh out of me.

I ran my hands from the base of his spine up over the planes of his smooth, modestly muscled back until my fingers caught under his shirt, and then I finally stretched the arms over his shoulders to help him remove it, my fingers briefly catching the soft texture of his hair that had significantly grown out. As he carefully lifted me so he could flip over, he sat up and left me straddling his lap.

Our noses were close enough to brush against each other and Stiles looked quite content with his change of position. He smirked and his cheeks grew round, his lips stretching into that impossibly long line that made him sort of look like the Joker. It was actually endearing, and I felt a rush of warmth flood through me when his dimples made a rare appearance and he winked at me and wiggled his hips. "Hey, there."

I snorted loudly at his eager antics, and he chuckled with me. I ran my fingers over the hair that had sprouted to life on his head, marveling at its length and how it made him look older. It grew slowly for weeks, taking its sweet time to change from its usual buzz-cut, and then all at once. He'd only trimmed the sides to keep at least some semblance of style, as his hair seemed to have a mind of its own and stuck out rather like Harry Potter's without at least some maintenance.

Stiles was unaccustomed to the attention I was showering him with. He tried to distract me from the obvious affection I was intent to give him, prodding my tickle spots and then trying to massage them. It was clear that he either wanted to turn this into a playful attack or something a little more sensual, but I was intent on taking a moment to try and express what I felt for him.

He prodded at my ticklish side again and I smirked and gently yanked a tuft of his hair in response, which drew a laugh from him.

His smile froze a bit as he finally seemed to draw the courage to say something, his whole being growing still, and his brown eyes looked at me cautiously. "How are you?"

He didn't need to elaborate. He was asking about Rex. Specifically, about how I was dealing with Maria exercising her right as guardian to keep him from me. Maria hasn't directly said why she's canceling lunch after lunch, but I'm pretty sure I know why. I continued to run my fingers through his hair, and he was visibly awkward about it. It didn't faze me.

"She's afraid that I'll stand them up," I finally said, the first direct admittance from me. Stiles' eyes eagerly flashed to me, but he stayed carefully still and pretended it wasn't a big deal for me to open up about this. "I wish I could blame her for thinking that, but I really can't. It's happened before. I hardly ever used to make it to scheduled meetings with them. I came whenever I wanted, with basically no warning, and she was powerless to stop it because Rex always wanted to see me for as long as he could. And if she told me to leave, she was the bad guy."

The bridge of his nose and tops of his cheeks were burned a pleasant pink from the sun, something that rarely happens to my darker complexion, and I softly ran my knuckles across the freckles forming there. His eyebrows creased with trouble as he absorbed this information. "But this is different," He told me, as if he was speaking directly to Maria.

I smiled wanly. "Not to them. It's doesn't matter." I dropped my hand.

His frown deepened and he caught my hand. Then, gently, he took my face with his free hand. "It does," He told me, meaningfully. "You're different. They don't know it yet, but you are."

I looked down at his basketball shorts, which were grey and made of some sort of athletic, reflective material. "She's just protecting him," I sighed and shook my head. "She's just… _protecting_ him."

"From you?" Stiles frowned, like it was ridiculous.

I looked at him, dryly. "Stiles." He tried not to concede. "Come on. You remember how I was. How I used to be. Can you really blame her for trying to protect him from more disappointment? Maybe it'll just confuse him to see me at all. He's getting older now. He's starting kindergarten in a couple years. He's not a baby anymore; he knows the difference."

"I think he wants to know you," Stiles said, his face firm. "You're family to him. That hasn't changed."

I hesitated, looking his face over. "Stiles…" I said. "Can I say something? Without it being a big thing?"

He frowned cautiously. "Okay," He said, slowly.

"If I'm any better, it's not my fault. It's _your_ fault." He snorted dryly and murmured a sarcastic thanks at my backhanded way of simultaneously thanking him and still managing to make it sound like an insult. "If I'm any better, or any different at all, it's all you. I would have stuck with Derek if it weren't for you, and I never would have considered there was any other way to live. I would have helped him kill Gerard, and whoever got in our way to do it, and I would have—" I paused and tilted my head. "I probably would have even helped him kill Jackson. But because of you…"

"I _still_ want to kill Jackson," Stiles quipped, trying to lift the heavy atmosphere my words cast. "What kind of person does that make me?"

I looked up and smirked at him, threading my fingers into his hair. "Human," I teased, and he rolled his eyes and tugged at my hair.

"That's _your_ fault," He told me.

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

He drew me closer, so that he could hug me, but I think it was so he didn't have to look at me as he admitted this. "I'm not perfect either, Savannah. I'm really not."

I thought over what he meant, and how I knew that deep down he was jealous of Scott, and sometimes a little selfish. Or, okay… a _lot_ selfish. And I grinned. "Yeah. For instance, you're pretty bad at taking a hint."

He barked out a surprised, quiet laugh. "What?"

"I basically threw myself at you earlier, and you turned it into a tickle-attack."

" _You're_ the one who starting playing with my damn hair!"

I scoffed loudly and pulled at his hair again to retaliate, and he laughed, tossing me back on his bed to loom over me. "Very mature, pulling on my hair. How old are we, six?"

I ran my hands up his stomach to his chest and smirked at the way his muscles jumped in surprise and his expression changed, darkened, as I ran them back down and tugged at the strings of his shorts. I reached up to bring his face down to mine, and then pulled his hair again as I kissed him, just to spite him.

"You really like to do that, don't you?" He muttered against my lips as he tugged my legs around his waist and ran his hand under my shirt.

"Shut up and take my shirt off," I told him, and he laughed as I helped him get it over my head and flipped us over so I was on top.

"Bossy," He teased when I broke apart from his lips to guide his hands where I wanted them, and then he grew distracted because I had just placed his hand on the soft flesh of my breast.

"Virgin," I clipped back, and his jaw dropped in surprise. His outrage quickly dissolved into slightly embarrassed laughter, his cheeks warming to an even deeper shade of pink, and I grinned devilishly as my hand slid down and he sputtered a bit in surprise. I smiled at him and he seemed a bit unsure as I bent to kiss him again. "I can help with that…"

"Savannah," He said through my feverish kisses. "Sav, stop for a second babe."

I whipped my head up so that my hair was out of my face, my hands frozen over the waist of his shorts. "I basically have my hands down your shorts, my shirt is off, and I have no intention of slowing down... and you want me to stop?"

He paused as he finally seemed to register that this was going somewhere. Stiles' eyes flashed in anticipation and he grabbed my shoulders so quickly that it pushed me back for a second. "Seriously?" He eagerly asked, and I raised my eyebrow at him.

"If you want to, then yes!"

He practically fell off the bed as he lunged for the drawer of his nightstand, and I fell to the side laughing.

* * *

We sat at the lunch table the following day. At everything anyone said, Stiles responded with an uncharacteristically upbeat retort. It was less sarcastic and more… chipper, in a word.

Scott had noticed it, too. He exchanged a raised eyebrow with me and I curled my lips to the side and shrugged a shoulder. When I reached up to grab a new sort of cookie that Brooke had concocted and brought for us to sample, the strap of my bra fell down, and Stiles casually reached over to place it back into its rightful position without thinking, brushing my hair over my shoulder in the process. He slid his arm over my shoulders, tugging me closer.

Brooke and I were both staring at the strap for a beat too long, and as I tried to play it off next to my oblivious boyfriend, Brooke's jaw dropped along with her cookie, but I easily caught it before it fell to the table—even if I did fumble slightly.

"Shut. The front. Door." Brooke gaped. She knew. From that single interaction, she knew, because that was way more openly intimate than Stiles and I had ever been in public, and he didn't even realize he was doing it.

"Yeah," Scott slowly agreed, his eyebrows slightly knit together as he pretended to know what was happening. "That was a pretty good catch, Savannah. Maybe you _should_ join the team."

I looked at him in surprise while Brooke continued to freak out, smacking the table and wagging her finger at Stiles and I.

"You two," She knowingly smirked. " _You two."_

Stiles laughed uncertainly and looked to me for clarification. "Us," He laughed along.

Oh no. _Please don't make this a big deal,_ I thought, giving a minute shake of my head to Brooke in an attempt to signal for her to shut up. "We… We have a surprise for you."

Brooke laughed deeply. "Yeah, I bet you do!" She said in a suggestive tone that confused everyone else. I clenched my jaw slightly and Stiles picked up that I was annoyed at something that was happening that no one else knew about, a fact that Scott and Isaac had long ago sensed due to their ability to read pheromones.

They all looked at Brooke and I uncertainly. "The beach!" I quickly continued before anyone else could butt in. "We decided to throw an end of the year party at the beach and we think you should host it."

Brooke, officially forgetting what she just gleaned from a simple interaction between boyfriend and girlfriend, basically lost her shit. She was bouncing through the rest of lunch as she sputtered with different plans and ideas.

Invitations? Via text message, obviously. Dress? Swimwear, obviously. Location? Beach, obviously. She'll take care of the food, and the drinks, and there will be no alcohol since the beach is an hour away and no one should drink and drive, and oh she needs to find a DJ…

Basically, the distraction worked. For now. But I'm sure she'll find me later to berate me for not telling her the second Stiles and I finished having sex last night. _Girls_.

* * *

Another weekend passed, and somehow we made it through without a full-press interrogation from Brooke. I've taken to sneaking into Stiles' room for the last couple of hours between when Sheriff leaves in the early darkness of the morning and when the rest of the world rises, and for a short time of every day, Stiles and I are blissfully, peacefully together.

Finals stressed me out, and I'm not entirely convinced that I passed them. But passing my classes isn't what has me staring off in space today. It's the new lunch we set up with Maria. It's the morning of, the day of the party at the beach, and while Brooke's been chatting my ear off and running around me like a chicken with her head cut off all week in preparation for the Big Summer Blow Out (as she has come to call it), it's today.

Which means Brooke is off barking instructions at other people, and out of my hair. And while I'm still surrounded by Scott, Stiles, and occasionally Isaac, I'm more alone than I have been all week. Which means I have time to think.

And I realized: it's the morning of the lunch date, and Maria hasn't cancelled yet. Scott said something to me, but I'm so lost in thought that I missed it, along with the entire conversation that's been happening for the last five minutes.

"What?" I blinked at him, and Scott frowned and glanced at Isaac.

"He asked what you thought of the algebra final."

"Fine, it was fine," I waved off, and Stiles set down the lacrosse ball on the picnic table we were seated at.

"You're not taking algebra. You're in geometry."

"What?" I blinked at Stiles, and this time they all exchanged a worried glance. "Geometry was easy. It was chemistry that sucked for me."

"Right," Scott said, but he wasn't looking at me when he said it. He was still looking at Stiles in some sort of silent conversation.

I cleared my throat. "Stiles, what time is it?" My fingers rubbed at my nose and I shifted in my seat as he poked his phone to life. I watched the screen light up, the time displaying that it was still late morning. _No texts._

I sighed. "It's eleven twenty," He told me. "Should we go? Do you want to be there early?"

I was out of my seat before he'd even finished the question. "We'll see you guys at the beach?" I asked, as Stiles explained to the boys where we were going.

"Uh—bye!" Isaac called after me, as Scott and Stiles continued to lowly converse even after I disappeared into the parking lot. It took another two minutes before Stiles finally joined me in the jeep, and I did my best not to restlessly squirm as he started the jeep and buckled in.

"Should you take the bypass or the back roads? Scratch that, we shouldn't risk the traffic, take a left out here and go the back way."

"That's still going to take an extra fifteen minutes," Stiles frowned, as he turned left anyways.

"But traffic could take even longer."

He visibly suppressed a sigh. "They'll be there," He reassured me, giving voice to my thoughts. "He's coming this time."

I sighed for both of us and kept quiet.

* * *

I couldn't stop looking at his hair. It was short, and it looked _blonde_. Is this the child I know and love? I watched as he carefully separated his fries from his plain cheeseburger, dividing the ketchup, fries, and burger into three neat corners.

When that was finished he picked up a fry and dipped the very tip into the bright red sauce, and never double dipped as he finished it off. He reached over to adjust his cup so that it rested correctly over the ring of condensation beneath it.

He _acts_ like my Rex. Behaves like I remember him to.

But when Maria brushes her hand over the top of his hair as she explains that he's taken to playing soccer with a team at his preschool, he didn't shy away from her touch.

And he didn't call me Vannah when they came in. Has he been replaced? Is this Rex?

I chewed at my lip nervously, shifting in my seat again as Maria and Stiles carried the conversation and I studied the child before me.

Taller. He's taller. His cheeks aren't as chubby as they were, and his lashes look as heavy as they always have been. Framing those big doe eyes, more like mine than Jack's in that they're a warm brown color.

They flicked over the table and across Stiles' shirt, which happened to have the Jurassic Park logo stamped across it. My breath grew still in my throat as I gauged his reaction.

Rex's eyes flitted to me and he immediately looked down when he caught me staring.

My hand flew to Stiles' knee in anticipation, and gratefulness. Bless this boy and his graphic t-shirt obsession.

But his _hair_. Where on earth did his blonde hair come from?

I wished we'd agreed to meet at Mario's, so that I could try and push some Hawaiian pizza onto him and reconnect. I wish it wasn't dry burgers and salty fries on our plates, a meal that held little to no sentiment between us.

I suppressed another sigh.

"You look fantastic, Savannah," Maria said, uncertain in her compliment and unused to seeing me look so… normal.

I looked back at Rex. Is that the problem? Is he he not able to recognize me?

"Thank you," I said, without looking at her.

Stiles covered my hand with his. I had forgotten that I grabbed his knee, but now I'm glad I did, because it was surprising to me just how reassuring it is to have him here.

"How's school?" She asked, and her eyes were still focused on me. "I assume… you're… you are—"

"She's going," Stiles nodded. "Finals were this week."

"Really?" Maria turned to me, a shameless expression of surprise on her face. "You took your finals?"

"I took them," I said, my eyes turning to meet hers for the first time since we sat down. With my eyebrow raised, I said, "But don't ask me if I passed them."

She barked out a surprised laugh, less amused and more stunned, and Stiles squeezed my hand encouragingly. "She passed," He dismissed like it was a secret, and Maria looked as though this whole lunch was surreal for her. It probably was.

"Who's he?"

The table quieted. Rex was looking at me, at my shirt. I glanced at the other two, Stiles, who looked like if he breathed it would be misinterpreted and they would both hate him, and Maria, who looked uncertain.

"He's Stiles." I wasn't sure what more to say. I squeezed his knee. "He's—" I paused, and looked at Rex in the face. "He's family."

I could feel Stiles' gaze on the side of my face, but I stayed looking at Rex, who looked at Stiles, or rather, looked at his shirt—and Rex dropped his gaze to the table again. "I like his shirt," He said, finally, and we let out a collective breath. Maria chuckled, and I think my smile was so big it split my face in half.

I wanted to reach out and take his hand, but I worried that was too much too fast, so I clenched my hand into a fist and left it on the table, giving Stile's knee another squeeze with my other one.

And then he was off. "What's your favorite dinosaur?" Rex asked Stiles, his gaze trained solely on Stiles' shirt, like it was the most important question in the world. "Don't say t-rex," He qualified, just as Stiles opened his mouth. "Or velociraptor. Everyone says those."

Stiles' eyebrows were raised in amusement and he side-eyed me before he answered, swallowing a smile. His arm was resting across the booth behind me, and he tapped his folded napkin against the tabletop as he responded. "I was going to say the deinonychus. They travel in packs."

Rex immediately smiled. "Mine is the velociraptor."

I covered my laugh with my hand and Stiles threw his hands up in good humor. "You said that's off limits!"

Rex's smirk deepened. "Did you know it's really only the size of a turkey?"

Stiles sighed loudly and dropped his hands, apparently sensing that if he pushed he would be arguing a losing battle. "Everything in Jurassic Park is basically a lie so, yeah."

Rex sat up straighter. "What else do you know?"

Stiles side-eyed me again and I widened my eyes at him to tell him to keep going. He shifted and said, "Velociraptors weren't actually that smart. They were probably about as smart as the birds from Finding Nemo."

"The ones who say mine all the time?" Maria asked, apparently fascinated, and Stiles nodded with a snort.

"We're talking the intelligence of, like, a possum or something."

This is why I love him. Sure, he's a complete nerd. Yes, he knows mountains of facts about things that in reality probably don't matter—but it always seems to come in handy. Like when his best friend turns out to be a werewolf, or when his girlfriend's nephew has an obsession with dinosaurs.

"What else?" Rex asked, totally engaged in the conversation, and I sat back and hid a smile behind my hand as I watched them immerse themselves in conversation. Even if it was a somewhat juvenile conversation, Rex always steering more towards questions of teeth and claw size when Stiles tried to stray to migration patterns and things like that.

And after that, Maria wasn't quite as afraid to keep the lunch-dates anymore.

* * *

"They like you more than they like me," I told him in the jeep on the way to the party. Stiles laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

"I like them too. They were… different. From what I was expecting."

"What do you mean?"

"I expected Cruella De Vil and the 101 Dalmatians. Except, you know. Just the one Dalmatian."

I sighed with a latent smile on my face. "I guess that's my fault."

"And we already have another lunch planned next weekend," He noted, pointing at me. "You're telling Brooke about canceling her plans."

I buried my face in my hands. "She's going to want to know why."

"So lie," He shrugged, and I peeked at him from behind my fingers. "Make something up."

"Like what?"

"Say you're sick," He waved me off. "I used to do it all the time."

So many things were wrong with his suggestion; I had to quickly sift through to the most important point. "She'd want to bring me soup," I told him, and he winced and nodded.

"So not that, then… Say I'm sick."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "She'll want to bring you soup," I said in the same tone, and Stiles laughed and shook his head.

"No, she doesn't care about me like she does you. Just tell her that I'm crazy contagious."

"I'll tell her you've got the runs," I joked, and Stiles turned bright red. Still, he shrugged his shoulder.

"One, never say that to me ever again. Ever." He put his hands out to emphasize his point. "Ever. Seriously." I snorted and nodded at him, and he didn't change his face. " _Seriously_."

"Okay!" I laughed, and he sighed and relaxed a bit, but not without a shudder.

"Two, do it."

I threw my head back and let my laugh fill the jeep, and Stiles grinned and shook his head to himself. "Tell her whatever you want. I don't care."

I smacked his shoulder. "Thank you! You're disgusting."

Stiles turned to me in exclamation, like an imaginary exclamation point popped over his head. " _You_ said it!"

"You agreed to it," I teased, and he rolled his eyes.

"Shut up," He told me, and I continued to chuckle to myself.

* * *

 _ **Okay, guys. I'm sensing one more chapter before season three starts. :D... WEEEEE!**_

 _ **Also, shout out to all those guests who reviewed even after the little break we had! It was lovely to hear from you guys. It really motivated me to update :) So thank you so much!**_


	63. Paranoid, Part 1

_**So, there will be some time lapses here, and I'll try my best to explain them along the way. Basically, this is my way of neatly tying up the rest of the summer with a bow. Consider this the closing to part two. Next chapter will be the beginning of part three, and the beginning of season three. (Funny how that worked out, no?)**_

 ** _I also decided to go ahead and amp the rating up to M because... reasons. I probably should have rated it M all along, but oh well._**

 ** _Finally, this chapter was requested by one of you lovely readers! I had to go waaay back in the reviews to find which one of you it was, but I found you! So:_** HeartlessNobody13 **_thank you for requesting a bonfire/surf scene to send Jackson off. That's what this party is *supposed* to be, sort of, except... well... Jackson doesn't show up because, hey, he's still an ass. XD So it ended up being more of an end of the school year, start of the summer celebration._**

* * *

By the time we got to the beach, there were already quite a lot of people milling about. Brooke had really gone all out on this one. Just before the beach there was a bit of a boardwalk, and while this town was scenic and beautiful, it wasn't exactly the biggest tourist attraction that California was home to. Especially this time of the year; most young tourists were still finishing up school.

For the most part, though, it seemed that Beacon Hills High School had really shown up. The younger kids stuck close to the outskirts of the party area, congesting mostly near the stage where a band was already playing. Stiles came around to help me out of the jeep, a gesture that was unnecessary but sweet. Ever since that night after the campfire, he seemed to go out of his way to do things for me.

It made me feel equal parts awkward and flattered. I had told him on more than one occasion that I could manage to carry my own bag, and make my own lunch. Stiles brushed it off each time, and always seemed to have a retort ready for me, and they came back so quickly it was almost as if he had practiced them.

My bag is light anyways, he'd said, it's not like I actually take my books home. (That's a small dig at my study habits—and in my defense, entirely untrue, especially because of finals.) He was making a sandwich and realized that he'd put mustard on it without thinking. He hates mustard, I like it, so rather than waste the food… (What a load of shit that one was. Still, I rewarded him with a kiss.)

Anyways, enough about how Stiles' behavior has changed. Back to the party.

It turns out that the band was a band comprised of students from our school. "I didn't know Greenberg was in a band," I murmured to Stiles, as we twisted through the crowd to make our way down to the beach where Scott and Isaac already were.

Stiles snorted. "He's smacking a tambourine. Anyone can do that."

I smirked, and caught a glimpse of Lydia sitting alone at a table outside of some small French café. Stiles saw it at the same moment and froze on instinct, causing me to walk straight into his back.

My temper flared and I couldn't suppress my sigh in time. Hoping to divert his attention away from the lonesome strawberry blonde, I gently prodded his side and pointed down at Scott and Isaac. "There they are," I told him, and Stiles warily turned to look in the direction I pointed. "Look! There are two seats still open right next to them. Come on," And with that, I grabbed his hand and took the lead.

It's likely that Scott and Isaac had saved those seats, and I think Stiles and I both knew it. But every time Stiles looks at Lydia, he gets this look on his face… and it might be nothing. Actually, it probably is, and it's definitely unfair of me to behave this way when Stiles has been so incredibly kind to me lately, but… well, I'm still me. And I'm nothing if not insecure when it comes to any sort of relationship.

Stiles let out a discreet sigh behind me as we descended the wooden steps to the beach. Scott's hand flapped enthusiastically through the air like a flag, and Isaac sat calmly beside him as they watched us approach. Stiles fell into step behind me, our feet sinking slightly into the plush sand as we went.

"Hey! The waves are perfect, dude, where's your board?" Scott asked Stiles.

"Crap," Stiles said, and then his eyes lit up a bit as he turned back to look up at the boardwalk, and I had a sneaking suspicion that it was in the direction of that crappy little French café. My eye twitched as I took a seat next to Isaac and Stiles told Scott, "It's still in my jeep. I'll go grab it real quick—"

"I'll come with you," Scott cheerfully said. "I want to buy a drink from one of those shops."

To say that Stiles looked positively pleased would be an understatement. Scott just have him the perfect excuse to go speak with Lydia.

Scott led the way, and before they could get too far, Stiles turned back as I clenched my fists over the table and Isaac raised an eyebrow at me. "You want anything to drink?" Stiles asked me, and shame quickly doused my jealousy.

I sighed and shook my head, offering him a half-assed smile. Stiles hesitated at the expression but when Scott started up the steps without him, he hurried to catch up, casting one final glance over his shoulder at me.

"I thought you were excited to surf," Isaac knowingly baited, leaned back in his black metal chair and looking too much like Peter with that poorly hidden smirk on his face.

I narrowed my gaze at him. "You brought sunscreen, right?"

Isaac's smile flickered and he sat up to touch his face. "Shit…"

A deep, content chuckle vibrated my chest. "Don't try to out-snark me, Lahey. I have seniority. You're still the rookie."

"No way!" He practically stomped his foot. "Jackson's way newer than I am."

I fixed him with a _you're-joking_ expression. He merely put his shoulders back defiantly, and I snorted derisively. "Jackson was bitten before _I_ was bitten, last year."

"That doesn't count!" Isaac dismissed with an outraged scoff. Apparently this mattered a great deal to him, as he waved his hand. "He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't even know what he _was!"_

Amused, I decided to push a little further, as I hadn't properly goaded anyone in a while. "Okay, Isaac," I patronizingly relented. "You're bigger and badder than him. You can blow down more houses."

If anything, Isaac stiffened more, looking like a cartoon character that had steam pillar from his ears. I bit back a chuckle and tilted my head at him, daring him to retaliate. "Why do you do that?" He finally broke, annoyance strong in his cool voice.

"Because it's fun," I laughed, and he rolled his eyes and turned away from me, all but crossing his arms, which just made me laugh harder.

"You guys!" Brooke sang, bouncing over to us in a fifties-inspired beach outfit. Lots of red polka-dots, high waisted bottoms, and winged eyeliner that will probably melt off before the night's through. And, it wouldn't be Brooke if there wasn't a clipboard in her hand she waved at us. "What are you doing?"

Isaac and I looked at each other, both at a loss for the answer she was looking for, or what exactly it was she thought we were doing wrong. Isaac seemed to realize he wasn't throwing shade at me, so he quickly looked away and went back to ignoring me. I smirked again.

"We're just enjoying each other's company," I taunted Isaac, touching his shoulder and laughing when he smacked my hand away.

"You're not even at the fire!" Brooke scolded. She came around behind me and tried pulling my chair out. I raised my eyebrows at how bossy she was being, and in direct defiance dug my chair deeper into the sand. Brooke swiftly realized she was way too weak to physically move me, so she settled for shooing us like she was an old woman shooing youngsters from her kitchen. "This isn't the party! Get up."

"Um," Isaac hesitantly said, his lip curled. "I think we're waiting for Stiles and Scott to get back with the surf board."

And with that reminder, I stood and told Brooke to show us to the party.

"Savannah," Isaac frowned at me disapprovingly. "You can't just leave. Stiles brought his board for _you_."

He was right; I knew it. I sighed and turned to shrug apologetically at Brooke.

She stomped her foot, her eyes bugging with annoyance. "For real?"

I crossed my arms and she sighed loudly.

"Fine. Isaac." She held her hand out to him.

He looked at me as if asking me to return the favor and suddenly remember that he was waiting for Scott and Stiles for some pressing matter. Except, there really wasn't any good reason he shouldn't go enjoy the party, so I only waved my hand towards Brooke encouragingly. "Go! Get a drink or something."

His face fell into resignation and he didn't fight Brooke when she went to retrieve him and usher him to the larger mass of people, going like he was being led to his execution. I smirked. _Drama queen._

When Stiles and Scott finally made their way back down to the beach, Lydia was with them. I felt my insecurity rise, and in response, my hostility grew. I did my best to keep a lid on it but I couldn't resist kissing Stiles' cheek possessively when he handed me a bottle of water I didn't ask for.

Lydia seemed somewhat surprised to see the gesture, and immediately knew what I was doing. She rolled her eyes at my apparently needless mark of territory and turned to Scott.

"I'm thirsty," She told him, and Scott glanced at us from the corner of his eye. Stiles wanted to speak up, I know, but I distracted him by ooing and ahing over his surfboard. Lydia grabbed Scott's wrist and dragged him towards the fire where Brooke had just dragged Isaac.

"Okay," I started towards the water.

"Wha—hey," Stiles called with a chuckle. When I looked at him impatiently, he shook his head. "You can't just jump out there and expect to stay on the board."

I looked up at the sky smartly. "Well, I don't expect to stay on," I told him, going back to grab his hand. "I expect to fall. A lot. But that's what you're here for."

"Oh," He laughed, and nodded sarcastically. "So I'm just supposed to let you go out there and drown?"

"I'm not going to drown," I scoffed. "Come on."

"Just—" He was beginning to get annoyed. "Humor me."

Stiles put his board flat on the sand and then instructed me to get on it. I stared down at it stubbornly for a minute, but sighed and eventually relented.

His instructions were hilarious. I say that because he told me mostly what _not_ to do, outlining the many ways that I could fall, slip, break a leg, break my neck, smack my head on a rock when the water swallows me, the dangers of riptides, how getting up is the hardest part but then you have to worry about keeping balance and did he mention that my arms are just as important as my legs in surfing?

And, in true Stiles form, his speech devolved into some twisted scenario where I would violently get eaten by a shark and lose an appendage.

"Just—you know. Make sure it isn't a leg," He told me, where he still loomed over me. I lay across the board with my hands pressed into the sand like I was about to do a push up. My eyes flitted away but my face didn't change. He recognized the silent question. "I really like your legs."

I snorted loudly. "Oh, but an arm is okay?"

"You've got bony elbows."

He snickered and scrambled away when I swiped at his ankles in retaliation.

* * *

"How many times did you fall?" Scott asked, long after the sun had set and Stiles decided surfing in the dark was a bad idea.

"Almost as many times as I lost my bottoms," I joked, and Stiles' cheeks turned pink on my behalf as he let out a half-hearted laugh.

"I should've made you borrow my wetsuit," He guiltily noted, and I wove my arm through his.

Wordlessly, I pressed a kiss to his cheek to let him know it was fine, as Scott continued to laugh at me. Isaac looked smug, apparently taking this bit of news as karma doing its duty and repaying me for tormenting him earlier.

Now that balance was restored to his world, he was all too eager to offer me and Stiles drinks. "I was going to get a refill anyways," He continued.

"Sure," Stiles said, at the same time I declined. He looked at me questioningly and I waved him off.

"I can't get drunk, and I don't like the taste of beer from a keg enough to drink it anyways."

As the night drew on, Stiles and Brooke became more and more intoxicated. Entertaining does not even begin to cover the pair of them.

Brooke was much calmer drunk—but she talked. _Constantly_. And she was extremely philosophical. Stiles, well… he liked to lie on the sand.

He hiccupped, while Brooke sat nearby and talked to Isaac about theories concerning alternative universes—research that she claimed to have forgotten after it became useless. Remember when she was trying to figure out what those creatures in the woods were? Remember how she researched basically every scientific and supernatural explanation there was before she settled on vampires? Well, Brooke does this thing. She'll research a topic until she collects every detail she feels she needs, and then, if it turns out to be useless, she claims that she sort of erases it all from her mind.

Otherwise, she says, it would be an information overload in her brain, _constantly_. It sounded too much like what Sherlock does to be entirely true, and it seems that the proof is playing out before me. She didn't _actually_ forget what she learned. She just stopped thinking about it. Because right there she is, spewing terms that none of us understood, about different dimensions and physics and abstract concepts that were hard to grasp when she explained them in her drunken state.

Meanwhile, Stiles was trying to chase crabs across the sand. I laughed at him and made sure he didn't run to the water, but otherwise let him do what he wanted. I wasn't the sort to mother a drunk. Or anyone, for that matter. I'm not the mothering type.

Scott, however, is a different story.

"Stiles," Scott said, hovering closely near him. "Stiles, don't!"

He pried the crab from Stiles' hands and started to toss it back to the sand.

"Wait!" Stiles cried, reaching around Scott's arms to try and grab it. Scott, reluctantly, held the crab aloft but didn't dispose of it as he listened. "Just… he's… he's lost. His friends are over there," Stiles pointed up the beach, away from the fire and towards the boardwalk. "He's—" Hiccup. "Falling behind."

"Okay," Scott said, and gently pushed Stiles back as he turned to toss the crab in the direction Stiles indicated. Stiles stumbled in place slightly and watched Scott go.

"Careful!" He insisted, even though Scott was already being careful. Scott put his hand up to show he'd heard him. "Careful…" He turned towards me and smiled. "Savannaaaaaaahhhhh! When did you get here? Did you see that crab? He's lost! Wait, come here, your hair is _pretty_."

And that's basically how the night went.

After the party was over and I drove us home, I had to practically carry Stiles to his room. He passed out in the jeep some time after explaining to me that Jackson hadn't shown up to the party, even though he'd _promised_ Lydia he would go. And wasn't that a shitty thing to do? Lydia deserved better; he'd always thought that.

In his room, I sighed at the memory and pushed the nagging feeling in my gut away, along with any thoughts of Lydia. After I put Stiles' surfboard back in its rightful spot, I took off his shoes and covered him with the plush throw blanket, grinning when he smacked his lips in his sleep and whispered my name.

I climbed under the covers and sighed, turning away from the clock that glowed four-forty at me, and snuggled down beside Stiles.

* * *

In the month that followed, things would continue changing. We were all adjusting to our new roles in our close-knit pack. Brooke did a lot of things to fill the void that summer brought—being that school and clubs weren't demanding every moment of her time. She tried to include me in as much as possible.

One afternoon, she finally asked the question I'd been anticipating since that day at lunch when she saw Stiles fix my bra strap for me. Somehow we'd ventured into the topic of virginity. Actually, I know exactly how it happened. She was complaining that she was a virgin, that she'd hardly even had her first kiss, and then she decided to ask me what she could expect.

"Why are you asking me?" I asked, not all that comfortable with this aspect of having a girl friend. An inexperienced girl friend, at that.

Brooke gave me a dry look. "Come on. I know you and Stiles are... you know."

I raised my eyebrow, taking a sadistic pleasure in making her as uncomfortable asking the question as I was answering it. She rolled her eyes.

"You guys are having sex," She impatiently elaborated. "I know you are, don't even try to deny it."

"Wasn't going to," I muttered, as she spoke over me.

"So? What's it like? I've read lots of books, and I've seen all the scenes in movies, but... I mean, sex basically runs the world. It has to be... important. Right?"

I frowned at her way of looking at it. "I guess. Yeah, I think so."

She edged closer, eager at my slight, vague response. "Well? What was it like, you know... when you... lost it?"

The urge to snort at her innocent way of asking was almost overwhelming. I swallowed my amusement and shrugged. "I was pretty messed up when it happened." Brooke's face changed to surprise and something resembling pity crossed with fascination as I relented and just dove into as much detail as I dared. "A handful of pills, some cupcake flavored vodka, and... Do you know Boyd?"

She practically burst, scandal written all across her face. "Boyd?" She whispered, even though we were in the privacy of her lavish bedroom. "Boyd was your first? Oh my gosh! I didn't even know you dated him!"

"I didn't." I told her. She clamped her mouth shut and studied me, waiting for me to elaborate. I took a breath and decided the hell with it. She's asking. "Boyd was... just, different. He was at a party with me, and I was really horny, and he was paying attention to me."

She looked slightly disappointed for some reason. When I asked, she said, "It just seems like sex should mean more than that."

"It can," I told her. "It just depends. It depends on who you're with, on how sober you are and how well you know them. Sex always feels good, but sometimes it can feel..." I thought of how it felt with Stiles. Oh how he made me feel, and I tried to think of how to explain it. "Important." I used her word that she'd used earlier, and she was extremely pleased at that.

Her eyes were light, and happy. "So... I guess... it feels important to you with Stiles? Why?"

Finally feeling a little more uncomfortable at how far she was pushing this, I shrugged irritably. "I don't know. It's just different with him. With Boyd, it didn't mean anything. It just felt good, like itching a scratch. It was... impersonal and quick and... I mean, basically, we used each other. After we were done, after that night, we parted ways and we were never interested in starting anything. It was a literal one night stand. But with Stiles, it's different. It's..."

Slower. With him, I go slower, I'm more attentive. I want to make him feel good; I want to make sure he knows that it means something to me. I always try to show him what I can't say out loud.

"Love," Brooke gasped, bolting up from her seat to clutch at her chin in glee. "You _love_ him!"

"Well, no shit," I snapped, annoyed at her and uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going. She bounced around the room and proceeded to sing it to the walls, while I sat on the end of the bed with a flat expression and tried to ignore it.

"Savannah loooooves Stiles! She's in looooove!" She started to sing some song from that movie _Enchanted_ , and that's when I got up to try and leave. She cut off her singing, spurting into laughter as she grabbed my arm to stop me. "Sorry," She giggled. "But I totally knew it, I was just trying to get you to say it."

I rolled my eyes, and we went the rest of the afternoon with her throwing that in my face every chance she got.

She and Isaac grew closer, something that didn't surprise me as much as it should. Isaac was like the Ron to her Leslie Knope—calmer, and more serious, but somehow willing to appease her whimsical personality. He pretended he didn't like it, but we all knew he did, and no one knew it better than Brooke. She bragged about having him wrapped around her finger to me all the time, and I smiled because Isaac deserved to have more friends.

Scott often sought me out to practice lacrosse with him. He would guise it as inviting Stiles, but since we basically became a packaged deal, he took full advantage of my werewolf-reflexes to challenge himself. His jokes about me joining the team became less joking and more encouraging, even though Stiles still resisted the idea for some inexplicable reason. Through lacrosse, Scott and I cemented a solid foundation of friendship. We could now interact without Stiles around without it feeling forced or like we were simply stalling until our mutual connection could relieve the awkward tension. Scott was a very attentive friend, but it turned out that he had a wicked sense of humor that I enjoyed very much, and the more time I spent with him the more I realized how sassy he was and what it was about him that made him the perfect best friend for Stiles.

I never expected Stiles to become as precious to me as he did. Not in such a short period of time. But no one has made the efforts for me that he has—and I do mean _no one._ Not even my parents did, and certainly not my brother, however guilty that realization caused me to feel.

I say this because Stiles not only supported with my need to spend time with Rex, he cultivated it. A few weeks after our lunch date, we took Rex to the Natural History Museum in Los Angeles for a day trip. It was Stiles' idea.

Rex ran from exhibit to exhibit, gluing himself to the displays like most kids would do at Disneyworld. Sure, there were kids who were excited to be there, but none of them were like Rex. Rex, who was usually quiet, reserved, and hard to connect with. Rex, who liked who and what he liked and shied away from anything else, spoke animatedly to perfect strangers. Held conversations with tour guides. Asked Stiles many questions, and even grabbed my hand to take me to see the butterfly pavilion because he thought I'd like it.

Stiles paid for he and Rex to go through the Dino Lab as well, and that gave Maria and me the chance to speak alone.

She told me how much Rex liked Stiles, and how she couldn't help but feel the same, especially after this trip. She also warned me not to let him go. And for the first time ever, Maria told me about her sister.

She said that her sister had a hard time connecting with people, sort of like Rex. (She actually called him Rex, by the way.) She said that they lost touch before she died, but that during the few times they saw each other, she spoke fondly of my brother.

I basically changed topics after that little piece of the conversation, turning it more to Rex's progress with June, and his new preschool. Then I made the point to apologize for the episode at Mario's… and everything before that. She told me that if all of this was just a phase, then I should let this trip be Rex's last memory of me.

That ultimatum shocked me. Maria was treating me like a mature adult by saying this, but also as a potentially irresponsible drug addict. And I deserved that, I know. But it still stung. I reassured her that this was no phase, and that I'm clean for good. She was glad to hear it, but she remained steadfast in her ultimatum. If I slip again, I'm done. Rex will have become too attached after this. He's getting too old for my past antics.

It sort of changed the tone of the trip, but at the end, Maria gave me the framed picture of all us that she bought at the gift shop. I appreciated the picture but honestly, it also really irritated me that Maria couldn't just leave shit alone.

I gifted a bronzed velociraptor necklace that came with a display base to Rex, and we called the day a success. The summer drew to a close, and things were finally fitting right in my life.

At least, right up until everything blew up.


	64. Paranoid, Part 2

**Part Three**

Ooh, see the fire is sweepin'  
Our very street today  
Burns like a red coal carpet  
Mad bull lost its way

\- _Gimme Shelter, The Rolling Stones_

Life changes in an instant. I've learned a lot over my brief time on earth, and changed my mind a lot. But this I know is true. One minute you're going along your morning, sipping at your mug of coffee as the Sheriff reads his paper across from you while your boyfriend is in the shower—and all the while you never know that within a few hours, everything you think you know will be proven untrue.

This was the calm before the storm. And I never saw it coming.

* * *

 _Saturday, 9:17 AM_

"Plans for today, kiddo?" Sheriff glanced at me as he brought his coffee to his lips, but he didn't put his paper down.

I took a breath. "Oh, yeah. Big plans."

This got him to lower his paper. He looked at me with his eyebrow raised. "Should I be expecting a phone call?"

I laughed at his paranoid response, shaking my head. "Not concerning us. Scott's getting a _tattoo_ today."

Sheriff's eyebrows rocketed. "He is?" Silently, I took a sip of my coffee, peeking at him from the rim of the cup. "Well, don't you two get any funny ideas."

I hid my smile by taking another sip. Actually, I had expected him to ask what he was getting. "Aren't you curious?"

Sheriff snapped the paper out straight again, smoothing the middle down as he shifted in his seat. "Just as long as it isn't something that he'll regret."

"So you don't care? What if it's your son's name?" I baited, and Sheriff raised an eyebrow in response, but didn't look back at me. "Or knuckle tattoos?"

He held the paper aside to look directly at me, and I smirked. "Melissa would have a cow."

"A tear drop," I joked, poking the smooth skin just under my eye.

Sheriff rolled his eyes and turned back to his paper. "Ha, ha."

"I've always wanted a spider's web," I told him, running my hand from the base of my throat to the side of my jaw. "And a black widow," I continued, poking my cheek. "Right here. What do you think?"

"I think you need to get some new material," Sheriff stalely remarked, not so much as a smirk on his lips. "You're not as funny as you like to think."

I snickered and he sighed at me.

"You ready?" Stiles asked, already putting his wallet into his back pocket. His gym bag hung over his shoulder because we were about to meet up with Scott to practice some lacrosse. His hair was still slightly damp, and it was long enough now to hang pleasingly across his forehead.

I felt a rush of attraction. Blood rushed to my face and heat between my legs, and for a moment I forgot where we were. I stood to join him, gazing at the way his wet hair that looked black and the blue t-shirt he wore under his brown plaid button down shirt he wore caused his eyes to somehow stand out as a bright amber color in the morning light. He seemed to catch the look in my eye and did a double take, the corner of his mouth twitching knowingly as I walked right up to him until we were almost touching. Stiles attempted a stern look down at me, silently telling me, _down girl._ But I'm not good at being told what to do, so I raised an eyebrow and took it as a challenge, and defiantly reached around him to grab an apple from the counter, letting our chests barely touch. I knew it was working as he watched my lips despite himself. I pulled away and let my gaze travel back up to his eyes to wink at him.

He took a breath once there was some distance between us, glancing sheepishly at his father as he scrubbed one his knuckles over the top of his wet hair and composed himself. I bit my tongue to suppress the smug snicker begging to be let out, and bit into my apple. Wordlessly, he reached to his back pocket as I brushed past him towards the hall.

"Not so fast," Sheriff clipped, looking up from his paper to point his finger directly at his son. Stiles withdrew his hand from his jeans to hold it out in a _what gives_ manner. Sheriff's voice was equally tired and annoyed, resulting in a slightly higher pitch than usual from tension. "Don't come home with any crazy tattoos, okay?"

"Right, no more tattoos," Stiles smoothly said, knowing full well how his dad would react to that.

"No _more_ tattoos? What does _that_ mean?" Sheriff growled, as Stiles ushered me out the kitchen. I grinned and wagged a chastising apple at Stiles, and he raised an eyebrow back at me and pushed the fruit out of his face.

I giggled and led the way to the front door.

* * *

 _10:42 AM_

Stiles was still finishing up his run, some distance off in the field. His heart was hammering so fast even I thought he was close to passing out. I smirked and took a drink of the water bottle we'd brought along, draining it entirely. Perhaps we should have grabbed two.

"Are you sure you don't want to get one?" Scott asked me. He stood near me and was currently stretching out his legs, post-run. We'd both finished our mile much faster than Stiles, though a comparison is unfair for obvious reasons. "I bet you'll change your mind when we get there."

"Something about the idea of rapidly firing a needle into my skin voluntarily for thirty minutes just turns me off." I shuddered at the thought, shaking my hand out and tossing the empty bottle to the ground in the process.

"But you've been through so much," Scott said to me. I turned to scrunch my face at him and he quickly tried to reword his point. "I mean, you've got to have something that means enough that you want it tattooed. Don't you?"

I raised my eyebrows and he almost looked afraid, like he'd said the wrong thing, or assumed too much. "If I ever think of something, you're coming with me to get it done."

He beamed in relief. "Deal."

"So what about you?" I asked, grunting as I imitated Scott's stretches and reached down to touch my toes, and I was surprised at the resistance my muscles gave. Maybe I should do this more. He paused to squint up at me, and the way his head was tilted to the side made him look even more like a puppy than usual. I couldn't help the snort I gave, and he smiled back even though he had no idea what the joke was.

"What _about_ me?" He wondered.

"I mean," I let out a strained breath and slowly rose back to my full height, stretching my arms up. "You're painfully single. What gives?"

He seemed to flinch. "Well—uh… there was a lot that happened, you know? I'm just not ready. And anyways," Scott sighed and took a step forward to do some more exercises, but really, I think he was just trying to escape the conversation. "Allison will be back."

"Maybe you should make her work for it." I gave him a suggestive smile and he scrunched his face into a disapproving smile.

"Why?"

Shrugging a shoulder, I joined his side and stood over him as he dropped to the sit up position, and blocked the sun from his face in the process. "She left, Scott. True, a lot happened," I added when I saw the expression on his face. "But it didn't just happen to her. It happened to you too—to all of us."

He didn't seem to follow me anymore than before, so I let out a sigh and shook my head. Not far off, Stiles was making his final round, and I knew he'd want something to quench his thirst.

"Allison doesn't get to play victim," I continued, unable to stamp down my brutal honesty. "Her mom died. So what, that gives her the right to turn on you like it's your fault? Do you remember _how_ she died? I do! She was trying to _poison_ you, Scott. I remember her mom—she wasn't exactly winning any awards. And maybe I've got it wrong, but something tells me that Allison won't come back from France feeling any colder towards her family. Like it or not, that draws a bold line between _you_ and _her_."

Scott dropped from his sit up with a loud sigh, his arms splaying on the grass beside him. "What are you trying to say? I already knew all of that—it doesn't change how we feel about each other."

I nodded, but inside I was dubious. "You could be right," I said, which was as close to an apology as he would get. Maybe I overstepped my boundaries. Scott seems like the kind to take free advice wherever he got it, but he also seemed like his mind was already made up on this particular front.

There was more I had to say on the matter, like how I wanted to remind him that I was actually rooting for them because I knew Allison made him happy, but before I could, Stiles came wheezing over. His hand was grasping for me as he panted and gasped like a fish out of water. Unable to form a word, he pointed down at the bottle lying some distance away, and I gave him an apologetic wince. "Sorry," I shrugged, and he looked like I just told him that the Super Bowl was cancelled this year. "Sorry!"

He dramatically collapsed into grass with a loud whine, and Scott suggested calling somewhere for lunch. Stiles groaned disapprovingly into the ground, muttering something about needing to throw up.

I went to the bag Stiles brought along to see if there was any water stashed in here from practices or games past. While I pawed through the contents, my fingers closed around a small cellphone that I had just picked up from the grocery store a few weeks ago. It was bulky, and cheap, but it served its purpose. There were six numbers programmed into the small thing: Stiles', Sheriff's, Brooke's, Scott's, Mario's and Maria's.

I hit the speed dial for Mario's and told them to have a large pepperoni pizza ready, along with three of the largest glasses of water they had. Then, I told the boys and went to retrieve Stiles from the ground.

* * *

 _Saturday, 12:56 PM_

We sat at the table, our stomachs full and our table empty. They'd actually ended up setting a whole pitcher of ice water out along with three glasses, which would have been really nice. But Stiles decided he was just going to drink straight out of the pitcher. Which means, he got an entire pitcher of ice water, and the waiter brought Scott and I lemonade on the house—compliments of the owner.

I'd be sure to leave a healthy tip for the old man.

Speaking of the old dog, here he came now. Stiles choked on the water he was currently chugging and nearly dropped the pitcher because he didn't hear Mario approach. I chose to ignore him because I knew he'd prefer not to have attention drawn to his clumsiness, and I turned to Mario with a carefully placed expression. "You look more and more old every time I see you," I told him, and he laughed whilst swatting my arm.

"You get more and more smart," He chided, clicking his tongue. "You and that brother of yours."

My smile faltered. Stiles and Scott exchanged an awkward glance, which reminded me of how rude I was being. "Oh, Mario!" I pointed to each of the boys and named them respectively: "Stiles, my boyfriend, and Scott, our friend."

Stiles gave an awkward raise of his hand as a wave and Scott smiled, easily taking the conversation off my hands so I had a minute to recover from Mario's strange slip up. "The pizza here is so great."

Before, it was a joke that I made. That's all it was, a joke about how his hair had become less pepper and more salt each time I visited his restaurant. But now I'm wondering if old age really _is_ starting to get to him, because he just talked about Jack like he'd seen him yesterday.

"Savannah?"

"Huh?" I looked at Stiles, completely dazed from being lost in my own musings. I think I might have been staring at Mario.

"He was asking how long Jack had been back in town."

An uneasy laugh masked the strange feeling that pooled in the pit of my stomach as I gave Mario a good look. He was clean, as if recently showered. His clothes were messy with flour and god knows what else, but is that really so unusual? One thing I did notice were a pair of reading glasses tucked between his shirt and his apron, but other than that he looked basically the same, plus a few spare wrinkles and pounds.

"Jack—disappeared several years ago now, Mario," I reminded him, an uneasy feeling settling over me.

"I know that," Mario quickly waved off. "But I was askin' when he got back?"

I looked at Stiles with my eyebrows raised, trying to see if perhaps I was missing something. But Stiles just kept quiet and looked back at Scott.

"Oh," Mario seemed to realize I had no idea what he was talking about. "Maybe he's plannin' to surprise ya," He benevolently suggested, a loud laugh booming from him. The laugh that usually set his customers at ease, the one that made him so endearing. "That'd be just like him, wouldn't it?"

"It sure would," I frowned questioningly at Stiles, who merely shrugged and focused on Mario. "Can we get that check, Mario?"

"Sure thing," He laughed again, and when he came back with it he said, "Sorry again for ruinin' the surprise. I hate it when people spoil surprises for me."

"Yeah," I weakly laughed, to be polite. There was no smile on my face as I watched him leave and retreat into the kitchen.

We sat in silence for a few moments as I poured over the conversation in my head and tried to figure out a logical explanation.

"Okay, that was weird, right?" Scott wanted to know after a minute had passed. Stiles and I nodded and he nodded along with us. "Yeah."

* * *

 _4:08 PM_

"You were friends with them, weren't you?" Brooke was a lot more concerned than I was.

Hesitating, I sighed. "Friends? With Boyd and Erica?"

"Well," Brooke considered it. "After what you told me about Boyd, maybe not him—and actually maybe not Erica either—" She broke off at the expression I gave her and rolled her eyes. "Okay, _fine_. But you're a fellow werewolf! Doesn't that count for something?"

The scoff that came from my lips was somewhat bitter as I shrugged an impatient shoulder at her. "Only a little bit—"

"See!" She exclaimed, encouraged. "So why haven't you been more worried? They've just gone missing, and you didn't even notice?"

"I guess we forgot to take attendance at the last meeting we had," I sarcastically snipped, since apparently she thought there was some sort of brotherhood among werewolves that just didn't exist. Quite the opposite, really. She rolled her eyes at me and I tore off a loud strip of tape and sealed up the last box. "There," I told her, and noisily set the tape gun down on the cardboard. "Done. Now, I have to go, I told Scott I would go with him tonight—"

"But, _Savannah!_ " Brooke whined, stomping her feet like a child. "This is serious!"

My face was the perfect picture of _Did you just do that_ , a disbelieving grin stretching my lips. "How old are you?"

"Old enough to know that you're being a crappy friend," She snapped, snatching the box off the ground to throw it in the corner with the rest of her boxes. Her family was moving—apparently, they decided to downgrade from a castle to a mansion that was a little closer in town. Brooke was actually overjoyed about it, and she had been trying to enlist my help with packing for weeks. Finally, I came around for the few spare hours I had today, and apparently she was finished because her closet was empty.

"I told you," I dismissed, my temper spiking as I turned on my heel to leave. "They're not my friends."

"I wasn't talking about _them_ ," She hissed, and I stopped to throw an expression that begged her to stop being so childish and bitter. Brooke merely raised a challenging eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Fine. But if I go missing, you'll notice right? Or are we not actually friends either?"

"Brooke," I scoffed, my voice sounding as though I didn't take her seriously even though guilt hardened my stomach enough that it sank. "If you went missing all of Beacon _Hills_ would notice."

She opened her mouth to comment, but I spoke over her.

"And of course we're friends, you dumb ass!" I moved towards the door. There was admittedly little affection in my declaration, but I didn't attempt to rephrase it or outwardly let it bother me as I opened her bedroom door. Just before I stepped out, I turned back. Brooke paused from pouting out the window to look at me with an expression that was a bit too troubled to truly be upset at me. "Call me if you need help moving in."

She scoffed loudly and turned away to gaze out the window to her estate below, watching the people mill about. "Take that giant vase by the door when you leave. It's not like we'll miss it, and I hate peonies."

The vase she was talking about was actually stunning. It was huge, standing at just over seventeen inches high, and made of the clearest crystal I had ever seen. I believe it was also hand-blown, and when I complimented it a few weeks ago Brooke informed me it was made of something called Venetian glass, I think.

That's Brooke for you. Angry at me, hurt even, but in the next breath, gifting me something worth nearly two grand. She's so selfless it made me sick to my stomach.

* * *

 _7:15 PM_

I looked over the sketches on the wall of the tattoo parlor, standing some distance away from the boys. Scott was already sat in a chair and being prepped for his tattoo. I was looking over the art that hung on the walls and mildly considering if I could imagine them on my body, and if so, where the hell I'd have them put.

I've always thought tattoos were cool. I had just never imagined getting one. Even when I was heavy into drugs, I kept tattoos at an arm's length. I don't know why. They're just so… _permanent_.

"Boy…" The tattoo artist smartly said to Scott. "It's a good thing you drew me a picture."

I smirked and turned back, my arms crossed. The piece of paper looked especially small in the meaty paws of the huge mountain of a man that would be scarring Scott's arm with black ink tonight. What he wanted was definitely simple, and should take no longer than an hour and a half to finish. Two black bands, the top one thicker than the bottom, hugging the top and middle of his bicep. Simple. I liked it.

While Stiles made a smart ass suggestion about Scott getting a tattoo of a reptile-humanoid creature that bore a striking resemblance to the kanima (so much so that it caused me to wonder if the tattoo artist had caught a glimpse of Jackson last year) I reached up to touch a piece of art that took up a third of the wall.

It was a dragon. A huge, complicated dragon, with lots of details and features. My fingers traced across the horns and spikes. "How long would something like this take?" I absently wondered aloud.

I didn't realize that everyone in the tattoo parlor had turned to gawk at the art I was touching—or, I guess they were gawking at the implication of me _considering_ the art I touched.

Stiles looked… in a word, petrified, as he stared at the dragon in horror, and even Scott looked somewhat hesitant from his seat in the chair. The tattoo artist had his eyebrows raised in surprised skepticism. "That would take multiple sessions," He told me. "And it would have to go on your back. Wouldn't fit anywhere else."

"Oh," I shook my head and breathed out a laugh, taking a large step away from the piece to emphasize my point. "No, no. I don't want it. I just thought it was—" I looked back at the art. "Uh, cool."

Stiles let out a loud, slightly obnoxious laugh of relief. "Thank _God_ ," He said, and the tattoo artist looked somewhat offended. Scott shrugged at the artist sheepishly on his friend's behalf, and I gave Stiles a disapproving scowl. "I mean—not that you couldn't pull it off, I definitely think you could pull it off, but it's just… so… _permanent_." He looked away from the sketch of the dragon. "Thank _God_."

I quietly scoffed and shook my head. Even though he was being somewhat rude about it, Stiles and I seemed to have similar views on tattoos. I didn't want to consider whether that meant we both had commitment issues.

The tattoo artist shook a small vial of ink after he finished shaving and cleansing Scott's arm. "So, why two bands?" Stiles wanted to know.

"I don't know, I just like it," Scott replied, somewhat defensively. To be fair, Stiles' tone was slightly critical. I pursed my lips at him.

"Why did you choose that shirt today?" I asked in an effort to make him understand that a tattoo didn't necessarily have to have some greater meaning.

"That's not the same," Stiles shook his head at me. "I can _change_ my shirt if I want to. I mean, didn't you think your first tattoo should have some sort of significance or something?"

I sighed loudly and shrugged at Scott, wordlessly indicating that I was tapped out. Scott shook his head. " _Getting_ a tattoo means something."

"He's right," The tattoo artist nodded before Stiles could disagree, interrupting his scoff. "The Tahitian word tatau means to leave a mark… Like, uhh… rite of passage."

"See?" Scott happily grinned. "He gets it."

"He's covered in tattoos," Stiles squinted at his friend before turning to the artist. "I mean, _literally_ covered."

* * *

 _9:06 PM_

We slid into the jeep, laughing about Stiles' squeamish and overdramatic reactions. "I can't believe you passed out over the needle," I continued laughing, and Stiles mocked my laugh and slumped in a pout, reaching up to start the jeep.

"Yeah, yeah…" He said, as Scott and I continued to snicker.

"I can't believe you _caught_ him," Scott said, and I laughed louder. Stiles' face heated to a very faint pink and he grumbled under his breath.

"Come on, that's enough," I said, patting Stiles' shoulder. He didn't shrug me off or anything but we could tell he was embarrassed. "Let's leave him alone."

Stiles sighed loudly and Scott bit back his laughs. "Sorry, man," He said, and I nodded.

"Here you go," And when I handed him the icepack that the mountain man had given me before we left, a bright green lollipop was tucked atop it. Scott burst into raucous laughter and I did my best to hide a smirk as Stiles rolled his eyes and threw the lollipop back at me.

Stiles reached over to smack Scott's arm on instinct and then immediately apologized when Scott yelped loudly, gripping at his bandaged arm. "Shit!" Stiles regretfully exclaimed. "Sorry, dude, my bad!"

Scott's teeth visibly gritted together, and while I expected Scott to either apologize as well or tell Stiles it was all right, he hissed agonizingly through his teeth.

"Whoa, okay, he didn't hit you _that_ hard did he?" I frowned.

Scott opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a pained gasp. " _No_ , it burns!"

I opened my mouth to say something but Scott's entire body convulsed in pain before I could, his mouth opening in a silent surprised scream as he clawed at the fresh bandage in panic.

" _Awgh_ , I gotta get this thing off!"

"Scott, don't!" Stiles and I chorused.

"It's supposed to stay on for an hour!" I continued, and his gasp intensified and he completely ignored the frantic Stiles beside him who looked ready to pass out as well as my persistent warnings, ripping the bandage off in one sharp motion.

The skin, though only moments before looking tender and vibrantly black where the ink was placed while we were in the shop, was now patchy and angry looking. At first I thought it had become incredibly infected, but as my nose and eyes told me, his flesh was desperately trying to heal itself. And it quickly succeeded as the black ink faded in spots before completely vanishing. As soon as his tattoo disappeared, he stopped struggling and let out a breath of relief, and we all took a moment to comprehend what just happened.

Scott looked at Stiles in outrage and panic. "It healed!" He loudly exclaimed, slightly whining. "Seriously!?"

"Thank God, I hated it," Stiles suddenly gushed. Scott looked at him in offense and I cleared my throat.

" _There's_ a hundred bucks down the drain. Glad I passed on that dragon tat—could you imagine?"

The look that Scott threw me was pretty venomous, considering the source, and he sneered, "Yeah. That probably would have _sucked_ for you!"

I winced a smile at him and Stiles raised an eyebrow that said he couldn't find error with the point his friend was trying to make.

Sitting back in my seat, I let out a sigh and listened as Scott bitched and fretted about what to do. The green lollipop glinted at me from under the seat, so I reached down to fish it out and tore the wrapping off before popping it into my mouth.

For the next few minutes, Scott continued to mourn the loss of his short-lived tattoo, and I could sympathize with his bitterness.

"We can't do anything fun, Scott," I announced from the back, and Scott scoffed loudly in agreement. "Can't get drunk. Can't get high. Can't even get a tattoo!"

"Okay, hey," Stiles chided in annoyance. "Enough with the pity party. You're also basically impossible to kill, and you're super strong and fast. You have great sight, smell, and hearing… _And_ you guys are just betas! You're not even alphas!"

I hummed lowly in acknowledgment, because he was right.

"Still," Scott finally said. "A tattoo would have been nice." I choked out a surprised laugh and Stiles shook his head. "We didn't do _anything_ over summer! Do you guys even realize that? Two months passed with no school, and we didn't travel, we didn't go to a concert, we didn't _do_ anything!"

"We also didn't have to fight a giant lizard," I dryly recalled. "Or a crazy hunter, or a psychopath werewolf. I'd say it was a pretty good summer, all things considered."

"When you put it like that," Stiles jokingly commented, and I grinned.

"I just wanted to do something different, you know? Something… memorable." He sighed loudly. "And now school is starting and we've missed our chance."

"Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine tonight, Scott?" I cocked an eyebrow.

Stiles chuckled and Scott finally broke his tense pity party to crack a smile. "Sorry," He muttered, though not very sincerely. "It's just… I didn't think it would be over so fast. It felt like it took forever, but now we're done and—"

"We didn't do anything, we get it," Stiles interrupted. " _You_ didn't do anything. Savannah and I did a lot."

"Oh," Scott immediately scrunched his face in disgust and waved Stiles off. "Dude, gross!"

I laughed loudly and Stiles was grinning from ear to ear, shaking his head. "I was talking about her recovering her relationship with her nephew, but now that you point it out…"

"Ohhh," I suddenly realized from the back seat. The boys looked at each other questioningly as I let a mischievous grin stray across my lips. "I get it. Scott just misses Allison."

Scott sat straighter, gearing up to deny it, as Stiles let out a loud, "Ohhhhh!" In teasing comprehension. "You're horny!"

" _Dude!"_ Scott smacked Stiles' shoulder, his face bright red, and Stiles flinched away with a snicker.

"I get it, bro," Stiles relentlessly continued. "It took me almost seventeen years to scratch that itch!"

"Ugh," Scott covered his face with a hand, his elbow resting on the windowsill of the jeep as he shook his head. "Forget it."

"Hey," I reminded him. " _You_ brought it up."

"I would be happy just to _see_ Allison," Scott admitted. "I don't even need to be with her. We haven't even talked at all this summer, because we agree not to. For space." He sighed loudly as we pulled up to a stoplight. "But France was a _lot_ of space."

Stiles looked over at Scott, and something beyond him caught his eye. Without looking away, Stiles reached back to swat at me and gain my attention. He pointed out the window, at the car stopped beside us, and I realized it was Lydia's car. And Allison was sitting in the seat next to her. Talk about coincidence.

Stiles glanced back at me before putting both his hands on the wheel again as Scott continued to throw another pity party, apparently feeling all sorts of depressed from his tattoo.

"Well… what would you do if you saw her right now?" Stiles asked, glancing back at me.

I bit my lip to keep quiet as Scott responded. "I don't know," Scott honestly answered. "Truthfully, I'd probably run away. But I want to tell her that I missed her. And that I don't want anymore space between us, if she doesn't either."

"You should tell her that," I encouraged. "And tell her about your tattoo. Bitches love tattoos."

Stiles laughed at me even though his face told me he thought I was weird, and I grinned back at him and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

"See?" Scott whined, letting his hand smack his leg like he was the most miserable person on the planet and no one else could possibly understand his pain. "Even you two have each other."

I rolled my eyes and Stiles smartly said, "Thanks for the support, bro."

Scott winced and offered us a lame smile, and Stiles hit Scott's shoulder. "Look," He said, and pointed out the window.

As soon as Scott turned his head and caught sight of Allison, it was like his entire world stopped turning. He stared dead at her, unmoving, not even breathing.

But then Allison looked over, and Scott gasped and dove down into the seat. Stiles reached around Scott to wave enthusiastically at the pair of girls, and I could hear Allison say, _Oh, my god!_

Lydia looked up to see what was happening and her eyes grew to the size of half-dollars when she saw Stiles waving at her over top Scott like the dork he is.

"Do something!" Scott anxiously cried, shoving Stiles back into his seat.

"What?" Stiles asked, while I took the initiative to reach over Scott and try to roll the window down. Scott shoved my hands back and yelped in horror, smacking at me when I tried to push him back. We abruptly engaged in a slapping fight, as I barely managed to get the window to crack.

I craned my neck high and tried calling through the window. "Allison!" I tried, but it came out muffled because Scott's hand clamped over my mouth and he shoved my head back.

Beside us, Stiles couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh, help Scott push me back, or join me and yell at the girls.

"Hey!" Stiles chimed in, and Scott gasped and whirled around to glare at him like he had just committed high treason.

"Yoohoo," I teasingly called, my fingers wiggling out the crack of the window. "Allissoonnnn!"

The window started to climb and I yelled out a string of curses at Scott when he nearly cut off my circulation, but my hostility was somewhat diluted from the cackle I couldn't suppress.

While I nursed my bruised finger joints, Scott tried to convince Stiles to run the red light, but I knew he wouldn't budge because he'd yet to earn a single traffic ticket since he'd gotten his license. He bragged about that quite often, in fact.

Before Scott could really get anywhere with persuading Stiles, the small car beside us tore away from the light with such intensity that the tires literally blew smoke up and left skid marks behind them.

Stiles paused as we watched the little compact car race down the empty street ahead of us in stunned silence. "You know, they probably didn't see us," Stiles weakly tried, and Scott threw him a dirty look.

"Yeah," I snorted. Finally, the light turned green, and Stiles smoothly pulled away and started down the long stretch of road.

"Wait—what are you doing?" Scott panicked.

"I'm driving? What?" Stiles glanced between the road and Scott defensively.

"It looks like we're following them!" Scott was on the verge of having a full blown anxiety attack, and I reached out to push him down in his seat before he could physically jerk the wheel and crash us all.

"Relax," I said, "They—"

"Well do you see anywhere to turn?" Stiles pointed out, since it was literally just a long stretch of road that had nothing but trees on the side. No other roads forked off it.

"Just do something!" Scott desperately begged.

"Like what?!" Stiles and I chorused.

"Anything!"

Stiles slammed on the brakes and I nearly flew out of my seat from the force of the stop. The three of us sat for a few seconds, watching their car's taillights grow smaller and smaller. "Yeah," I finally said. " _That_ didn't look alarming at all. They'll probably just keep—"

Before I could even finish my thought, their car came to a stop in the middle of the road as well.

"Heh," Stiles chirped, reaching back to swat at me because he knew I had just predicted that. "See? She doesn't hate you!"

Scott looked at him in confusion. "Who said I thought she hated me?"

Stiles couldn't properly respond with his foot in his mouth.

A deafening crash interrupted the awkward pause that ensued, saving any of us from trying to salvage the moment and convincing both the boys to leap out of the vehicle like it was _ours_ that had been hit. I scrambled to follow after them, my heart rate kicking up at the sound of the girls screaming in terror.

They were out of the cars by the time we caught up to them, but luckily there didn't seem to be any injuries, which was a miracle in and of itself. While Stiles and Scott continued to check out the girls I stepped around the front of the car to peer at the damage.

A deer had apparently _ran_ straight through the windshield of their car, head first. There was no heartbeat, which meant it died on impact.

Lydia said she thought the animal looked crazy just before it leapt through their window, which is a natural conclusion to come to given her circumstances. I shook my head and looked up the road, towards the woods that was beside us.

Scott agreed with what I had already decided in my head, which was that the deer wasn't crazy. Animals don't go crazy—they act on instinct. The deer was terrified of something. And I've never seen an animal go more crazy then when it gets around me or another werewolf, especially Derek.

I turned back to look at Stiles as the others turned their attention to what I had just looked at, and he shared an identical expression that I did. What the fuck does this mean?

* * *

 _2:13 AM_

Allison and Scott didn't really speak past assuring each other that they were unharmed. Physically, at least… Allison and Lydia were both in shock after what happened. We stayed with them until Lydia's car was safely towed away, and I'm not sure what was more shocking… the fact that the tow-truck guy wasn't surprised to see the deer and hear the story of what happened, or the fact that there has been a rash of animals running into cars recently.

It only increased my anxiety. Ever since the lunch at Mario's, I'd been on edge. I'd been standing a lot with my arms crossed, I'd been losing myself in thought, I'd been distracted all evening.

Stiles was starting to notice. He came trudging into the living room, rubbing at his eye and yawning tiredly. "Savannah?" He asked, his voice thick with sleep.

I turned away from the window I was staring out, uncrossing my arms. "Hey," I said, trying to make my voice sound upbeat instead of troubled. "What are you doing up? School is tomorrow."

He fought off another yawn, his hand popping up to gesture at me sarcastically like usual. "That's what I was going to say."

I sighed and shook my head. "I just… can't sleep."

Stiles came around the couch to pull me into a hug. I let him wrap me in his arms, closing my eyes and resting my cheek against the top of his shoulder. This is what amazes me about him. He just knows what I need, even when I stay up all night trying to figure it out.

"You wanna talk about it?" Stiles' quiet voice vibrated his chest, which only soothed me more, and I sighed as I brought my hands around to his back, shaking my head no against his shoulder. He snorted at my lazy response. "I had a dream about the tattoo parlor."

"I knew you liked that dude," I teased, and Stiles gently smacked the hip he was holding. I laughed at him and he shook his head, but I knew he was smiling. "Distract me," I mumbled against his shoulder. I dropped my voice to a whisper. "I need to get out of my head."

"I dreamed…" His hand traced up the curve of my waist, trailing around to my back. "That you got a tattoo right here…"

"Mmmm," I hummed in amusement, raising my eyebrows suggestively at him and causing him to grin in response. "A tramp stamp. You dreamed that I got a tramp stamp?"

His laugh was low and quiet, like his voice, and it relaxed me so much that I could actually feel myself getting a bit drowsy. "Not a tramp stamp. It was actually a tree, from up here," Stiles ran his hand from the top of my spine down, slowly, and I suddenly wished that the tank top I wore wasn't blocking the feel of his hand against my skin. Pressing his lips close to my ear, he whispered, "Down to right…" His fingers stopped just at the top edge of my shorts, lightly skimming the top of my underwear. "Here." I felt goosebumps break out down the back of my neck.

My heart was beating fast as I pulled back slightly. "Too bad I can't actually get one. It would just heal…"

"It was actually really hot," He admitted, and I wondered if it was in part because I couldn't get one that he was willing to admit this to me. I kept my eyes on him as I pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, feeling my heart swell with affection when he grinned and the faint, small little dimple he had winked at me. Looking down, I kissed along his jaw line and paused when I got to his neck.

"You know you didn't really make me wanna go to sleep," I whispered, letting my breath brush across his neck, and he let his fingers grow a little more firm where they touched me, switching from feather-light and gentle to exploratory as they snuck under my shirt.

"Oops," He insincerely remarked, and my chuckle was cut short by his lips.

* * *

 _5:00 AM_

Stiles was fast asleep in his bed. The note I left was lying on my side of the bed, right on top of the pillow, and I knew he'd probably be miffed at me for leaving without saying bye. I pulled my plaid shirt over the loose tank top I wore, grabbing my leather backpack I'd recently purchased before twisting his door knob as carefully and quietly as I could.

Stepping with as little pressure as possible, I crept out of his room and down the hall to the front room, hurrying away from the light of the kitchen. I grabbed my shoes from near the front door and slid them on.

In the kitchen, I heard Sheriff moving about. He was just getting home—but apparently he was making a pot of coffee, which means he didn't plan on going to bed. I wondered if he had to turn around and go back out, and the thought spurred me to hurry along as I silently opened the front door and slid out as quickly and quietly as I could.

Something was pulling me to Derek. Blame it on the rumors of my brother popping up… blame it on what happened with the deer last night, or the guilt that Brooke had infected me with concerning Boyd and Erica. Or blame it on the fact that I hadn't so much as seen Derek since the whole episode with Gerard… but I needed to ask him some things. To see if he could make sense of anything that was going on.

I knew Stiles would disapprove of going to Derek for help. But I was fairly certain Isaac would be there, or at least Jackson, so I didn't feel all that awkward about going to see them.

It wasn't hard to find him. They relocated to Derek's house, which was pretty conspicuous despite its isolated location, even in the dark early light of dawn.

He was out of the front door before I'd even gotten to the porch. Surprisingly, I felt my heart rate kick up in response to seeing the tall, familiar form of Derek Hale taking up all that space on his spacious porch.

"What do you want?" He brusquely asked, without so much as a hello.

I stopped near the edge of the steps, curling my thumb around the strap of my backpack. "Have you heard about what happened to Lydia's car?"

His dark eyebrow arched and he looked at me like I was stupid. "How would I have heard about that?"

Annoyed, I felt myself falling back into the swing of Derek's curt way of interacting with people. "I dunno, Derek," I responded with just as much venom as he threw at me. "I can never tell what you will or won't know about."

He rolled his eyes. "What happened?"

"Don't you need sleep?" I asked, stepping onto the first stair of his porch. His eye twitched at my change of subject. "I know you used to only get like, three hours of sleep a night, but that's when the kanima was running around. I always thought it was because of that. But Jackson's just a werewolf now, right? There's nothing left to worry about." I paused, gauging his reaction. "Right?"

Derek's face remained unchanged. He looked away from me to sigh and uncrossed his arms, gesturing to the front door. "Do you want to come in?"

I looked at the bright red paint on his door, and something in the back of my mind nagged me about it. It was such an intense shade—and everything else about his house was bland. Like it was living in black in white, or like it was decorated by some monochromatic minimalist. All except for the door.

I looked back to him, and noted the way the muscles in his neck had strained ever so slightly. "No, I'm sure the other normal people inside are still sleeping. And anyways, I can't stay long. I just…"

"Why are you here, Savannah?" He finally asked, point blank. I sighed again and tilted my head at him.

"Did you know that you basically always respond with a question?"

"Did you know that you've dodged telling me what happened or why you're here _five_ times now?"

"Hah," I pointed at him. "That totally just proved my point."

"Six."

"And the cycle is broken," I mournfully said, with no small dose of sarcasm behind it. Derek sighed at me and crossed his arms again.

"Savannah, if you're not going to tell me why you're here then you should just go."

"Now, Derek," Said a new voice from behind me. I turned to see Peter approach, walking with that long, predatory gait of his, like a wolf that was languidly loping around its prey. His calm demeanor was an illusion, I knew. Peter was the sort of animal that would strike on a whim. "We've talked about this. That's not the way to treat a guest. You're supposed to ask them how they've been, chat about the weather for a bit, and then remind them that you can tear our their corroded artery before they can so much as blink."

Peter smiled widely at me and I gaped at him for a few more seconds before gesturing broadly at him to Derek. "There, see? I feel so much more welcome now, with that warm Hale hospitality."

"Savannah, it's really not a good idea for you to be here anymore," Derek told me, and I felt my temple bulge as my jaw clenched irritably.

"I get it," I snapped. "I picked a side, and you guys think it was the wrong side, and now I'm your public enemy number one—" Peter raised his eyebrows at Derek like I had just flattered myself or something, but I chose to ignore him. "It's just that a lot of weird shit has been happening around town recently, and you two have a nasty habit of concerning yourselves with the weird shit that happens around this town."

"She does know us," Peter smartly sighed. "You might as well tell her."

If looks could kill, Peter would be a smoking pile of ash on the ground right now from Derek's glare. I stiffened at the realization that there may be more going on here than just some suicidal woodland creatures.

"It's something bad, isn't it?" I realized aloud, and the two men looked at me with varying degrees of poker faces. "Something is starting up again. I can feel it."

Peter turned to Derek. "She can _feel_ it."

Derek rolled his eyes as I scowled at Peter, ready to snap at him for mocking me at every fucking word I utter. "Go home," He told me. "It's safest for you there."

I tore my gaze away from Peter to glare at Derek. "Is my brother alive?"

Derek's poker face shattered, and even Peter sat up straight in shock at that one. The hostility in the air had been sucked out like a vacuum, as the two men peered at me in pure shock. They truly didn't expect me to ask that, which did little to assuage my suspicion.

" _Well?"_ I persisted, my fists clenching in agitation. "Is he?"

Peter brought a thoughtful finger to his lips as Derek replied, turning away from the conversation for a moment.

"Why would you say that?" Derek asked in a rare moment of sympathy, the likes of which I had never seen cross his face before. It occurred to me that if anyone could sympathize with a family member rising unexpectedly from the dead, it's Derek Hale. I cast a fleeting glance at Peter, but he seemed completely checked out of the conversation for now as he frowned down somewhere on the ground lost in thought.

I cleared my throat and straightened my back, throwing a fake indifferent shrug in for good measure as I rubbed at my nose. "Just… something that a family friend said yesterday. He asked me when Jack got back to town, and for some reason I thought… I guess I thought you might have known something about that."

Derek looked down, his face troubled as he shook his head, his lips pursed. "No," He quietly told me. "I don't."

Something inside me deflated then. I couldn't keep the disappointment from my face as I realized that my one Hail Mary pass was a total miss, and I suppressed a sigh. "Oh."

Derek didn't say it out loud, but I could tell from the look on his face that he was sorry that he couldn't help me more. It was probably the total absence of hostility on his face as he looked down at me from the porch, but I could just tell, he felt bad. It wasn't comforting. Not even a little bit.

I sighed. "Anyways," I said, running my hand through my hair. "I guess I'll go."

Derek kept his lips pressed tightly together as he frowned and nodded at me, and Peter didn't even acknowledge my existence as I said goodbye and turned to trudge through the woods to school.

I don't know what I expected to happen. For Derek to suddenly recall that _Oh_ , yes, he _did_ know where my brother has been for the past three years! In fact, here he is now, just tucked away inside the crispy Hale house along with one of your closest friends, Isaac, who, by the way, has also been keeping his location a secret from you for the past ten or eleven months! Whoo! How'd I guess?

Jack is dead. I knew that. I saw his body that night with my own two eyes. But I would be lying if I said that Stiles' research hadn't sprung a little doubt inside me, something that I repressed intensely for weeks after it happened. At least, all the way until yesterday, when Mario had asked me directly about Jack for the first time since he disappeared.

It was the way that Mario spoke about him—so casually, and matter of fact, like he's seen Jack since he went missing all that time ago. Like he knew all along that he wasn't dead. Mario never asked me about Jack after he went missing, after all that happened, and I guess if I really want some answers I should go talk to him.

But I need to get to school. I know that Stiles will have a few choice words for me for disappearing without so much as a warning, especially since I went to _Derek's_ of all places. I don't have time, or the emotional energy, to go confront Mario. Maybe I'll go this weekend.

I was just coming over the crest of a hill when it happened. The sun was barely peeking over the edge of the horizon, casting just enough light to create shadows off the trees that stretched for yards along the ground.

There, off in the distance, I saw a figure. It was the figure of a man—standing at about the same height as Derek. And at first I thought it was him, but then the clothes registered in my mind. That jean jacket. The same one that he's worn since his early years of high school, with some patches from his boy scout days, which fit him like a glove and must have survived years of wear and tear and still looked to be in fine shape.

I did a double take, but when I looked at that spot again all I saw was a small clearing in a cluster of trees at the bottom of the hill. Nothing, and no one. Not even a stump or a bunny. Just empty air, and a forest floor. A ghost, haunting me. A manifestation of the guilt and the fact that I want so _bad_ for it to be true—for Jack to have been alive and well this entire time. A trick of the light, maybe. But a hallucination, nonetheless.

And then my phone rang. I jumped about six feet in the air, my claws coming out from the adrenaline and shock that jolted my system, and when I registered what the loud, invasive noise was, my hand flew to cover the spasming muscle in my chest.

I took a deep breath and my hands trembled only slightly as I tugged the bag off my back and dug through it to find the singing phone. An unknown number was trying to call me, which was really weird since only six people have my number.

I flipped the front of my phone open, frowning at the trees and at that empty space of forest at the bottom of the hill. "Hello?"

"Uh—hey—Savannah?" A woman's voice asked, sounding slightly uncertain.

"Who's this?" I asked instead of answering, because my paranoia wouldn't let me reveal my identity just yet.

"Hi, Savannah, it's Melissa McCall..."

* * *

 _9:10 AM_

Brooke was late. She was late to school, and it might have been the first time she's ever been late to anything in her life—but it would definitely be the first time she was late to class.

Her car. Her car decided it was going to cough out smoke and putter to a stop in the middle of the street this morning, and she wished she could say she handled it well. Honestly, she panicked. Traffic behind her kept honking, her car was beeping and her dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree as just about every warning sprang to life. She was apparently low on oil, and about six other symbols she didn't recognize.

Her first instinct was to call her nanny. But then she realized she didn't know the number for their new landline at their new house, and if Triple A came, she would have no idea what address to tell them.

So she was basically useless, and stranded, and she was late. _Very_ , very late, on the first day of school.

She pulled out her phone and tried to call Savannah on her new phone. It rang, and rang, and rang... and then went to voicemail. Irritated, she hung up instead of leaving a message.

Brooke, never one to sit idly and feel out of control, got out of her car and went to stare at the hood. Smoke still curled out from under the hood, out any available orifice—from the grill to the edges of the hood. Her brightly colored Bug looked like a pissed off dragon, and she had no clue how to fix it.

She figured out how to get the hood open, after fiddling with it for about two minutes straight, and she coughed as she backed away and waved the smoke from her face.

She felt pathetic, and totally unprepared to handle this complete disaster.

"Car trouble?" A deep voice asked behind her. She turned to see a man who was tall and strong looking, like he was made of nothing but a six-foot-some wall of muscle. He didn't exactly seem friendly, but Brooke was in no position to be picky, and besides that she hates to judge people. Even if they do look sort of… _rough_.

Her instincts were sharp, and accurate. Always had been. And with her nerves already as frayed as they were, she was uncomfortable, but she still forced out a smile at the man. "Uh, apparently," She told him, and gestured vaguely to the car. "It just started—smoking, and it stopped running, so I'm stuck, and there's like seventeen lights on in my dash that I don't understand. And I'm late to school."

The man peered into the hood for a moment and turned back to Brooke with a polite smile. "I have some tools in my truck. Want to go grab them for me while I loosen the reservoir cap?"

She blinked at him. Turning, she saw the truck he was talking about. It was huge, and white, and it looked like it was supposed to be used to haul large things on farms or construction sites or driven by big strong masculine man's men who just like to feel horsepower and whatnot while they drive to the grocery store.

"Over there?" She asked him, and he was already bent over the hood to fiddle around with something.

"Yeah! The tool box is under the middle seat, its bright blue, so it'll be easy to see."

"I really appreciate this," She said, standing on her toes to try and see what he was doing. He didn't pause or respond, and she shifted a bit at his lack of manners. But she couldn't be ungrateful, so she said. "My—my name is Brooke. So, I'll just go get those tools… It's unlocked, right?"

"Ennis," He said, and she frowned.

"What?"

He paused to lean up and gaze at her from over his shoulder. Something about the way he looked at her made her uncomfortable and she suddenly wished she had told him not to worry about it and called Triple A after all. "My name is Ennis, and yeah, the truck is open."

"Oh," Brooke looked down and forced a smile on her face, because she didn't want to offend him. "Be right back."

She hurried along the edge of the road, glancing at the traffic that zoomed past. There were wildflowers that sprung from the grass just off the road, and she thought about the pretty red ones she saw and wondered what they were called as she went to the passenger door to open it.

His truck looked new on the inside, too. The sight of an open can of soda in the cup holder relaxed her a little for some reason, and she sighed and shook her head as she climbed onto the step under the door so she could reach under the middle seat.

Brooke's fingers had barely brushed the back of the tool box when something hard and sharp connected with the back of her head, and she fell unconscious on top of the passenger seat.

* * *

 _ **Everything's happeningggg... If this were on television, I would definitely be playing Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones during the credits right now XD**_

 _ **So, FINALLY, we're starting season three. The next chapter will come soon! Also, I'm pretty sure if you haven't been able to leave a review on the chapters because of my update a few months ago, you should be able to review now.**_

 _ **Let me know what you thought of this intro to season 3!**_


	65. The Wolves

_**POV stands for Point Of View, for future reference.**_

 _ **If you're new, welcome! If you've been following for a while - THANK YOU! And either way, I hope you enjoy :)**_

* * *

Someday my pain  
Someday my pain will mark you  
Harness your blame  
Harness your blame, walk through

With the wild wolves around you

 _\- Wild Wolves, by Bon Iver_

* * *

I walked through the hospital, my heart beating fast. Coming here was never a good thing, especially not for me. A lot of memories haunt me in this place.

Like over there, by that vending machine. That's where I went to get something to eat while my brother spoke to the doctors after our parents were in that horrible accident, because I was hungry and hadn't had anything since early that morning.

A girl stood in the same place I had all those years ago, gazing up at all her options. Nearby, an older boy called her name, and she snapped at him to wait, and my heart tugged a bit because it was such a familiar scene and the déjà vu that struck me was unexpectedly sharp.

I faced forward and continued past.

Melissa McCall rounded the corner and hurried toward me when she saw me.

"Hey," She greeted, glancing over my shoulder like she was unsure if I'd brought anyone along. "Where's Scott?"

"What?" I frowned at her. "I don't know! He's _your_ son, not mine."

"Oh," she blinked and shook her head. "I just—Well, I assumed you'd bring him along. Were you not at school together?"

We didn't have time for this. "No, where's Isaac? Which room?"

"He's in room two-fifteen—but listen," Melissa urged, holding onto my arm before I could step away. She leaned in and lowered her voice. "When he was admitted, the lacerations on his side were so deep it looked like he lost a wrestling match to a grizzly. When I checked half an hour ago, they'd already started shrinking. He's healing, and fast. I don't know what we're going to do when they take him to surgery and there's nothing to operate on."

I shook my head. "We're not going to do anything, because he's not _going_ to surgery."

"What?" She asked, confused. "You have a plan?"

I shrugged a shoulder and stepped away. "Yeah. Get him out of here."

"Wait—you can't just wheel him out! He's a minor!"

I ignored her and went down the hall to the elevator. "Call your son," I told her as the doors slid shut. She looked uncertain and I didn't get to see if she actually decided to follow my instruction or not. I could sympathize with Melissa, really, I could. This is her career and she's risking it—probably not for the first time—so that we can handle our supernatural crap.

When the doors opened, the first thing I noticed is that the second floor was a lot more calm than the first. There weren't nearly as many people buzzing around. Mostly, there were nurses and doctors zigzagging from room to room, from station to station.

No one paid much attention to me when I stepped off the elevator and began to count my way down to his room.

Two-twenty three, two-twenty one, two-nineteen, two-seventeen…

Two-fifteen. The door was open. That was a good sign, I think. As soon as I stood in the doorway, Isaac anxiously tried to sit up.

His face was misted with sweat and he looked paler than the moon. "There were two of them," He immediately started. " _Twins_. They tried to kill us, chased us down and—"

"Isaac, relax," I told him, eyeing the beeping monitors at his bedside nervously as I shut the door behind me. They had gotten louder and more persistent the moment I stepped inside, and I knew if he didn't calm down the nurses would come to check that he wasn't about to die. His eyes flashed yellow in frustration at being shushed and he urgently tried to get out of bed. "I said sit _back_ ," I snapped at him, my voice dropping to my throaty wolf growl because I needed him to cooperate if we had any chance of getting out of here.

Even though it looked like the last thing he wanted to do, Isaac settled back into his pillows, wincing when he strained his injury a bit. I came around the side of the bed as he continued to babble at me about the mutant twin werewolves who chased him through Beacon Hills. With my hand bracing the hot skin beside his bandage, I gingerly peeled back the tape and peeked under the gauze at the injury beneath.

Long, shallow claw marks. The raw flesh was red and angry, but from what Melissa described, they had significantly improved since she's seen them. I smoothed the bandage back down and glanced up at the door warily.

"Okay…" I sighed, interrupting him, which actually frustrated him a lot, I think. His eyes flashed again and he impatiently waited for me to speak. "Do you think you can walk?"

"If you help me, I think so." He was already lifting his arm so I could help him out of bed. I knew that there was a pretty great chance that Isaac was downplaying the severity of his injuries and the intensity of his pain, but I also knew that we needed to get the _fuck_ out of this hospital and get him to Derek.

"Have you been listening to anything I—" He broke off to wince in agony when I basically lifted him from the bed, his arm thrown over my shoulders. " _God_ , you're bossy."

I snorted. "If by bossy you mean helpful and concerned, then yes. Yes, I am."

Isaac opened his mouth to retort but the door opened before he could say anything. We both froze because—one, neither of us smelled or heard anyone coming down the hall. Two, this nurse didn't look surprised to see me.

She had long brown hair and familiar brown eyes, and Isaac and I couldn't decide if we wanted to try and burst past her to make a break for the door or settle him back in bed, which resulted in a really weird tango. I had my hand on his side that wasn't injured as well as his arm across my shoulders, which probably looked like a lover's embrace—except me in the dominant position.

Another beat of silence passed through the room before I thought of something to say. "Bathroom," I quickly explained. "I was helping him to go pee."

She didn't look concerned. In fact, she barely seemed to register my words as she looked me over with an out of place, smug smirk across her wide lips. "So…" She said, her nostrils flaring. "You're the one who's been helping raise my son."

* * *

 **Brooke's POV**

Brooke woke up with a start. The back of her head ached sharply. The air she breathed was slightly musty, and stale, like she was underground or something.

The only light came from windows far off. The ground was smooth and marble. The walls, metallic. Lockboxes, she realized. Bars… and… a vault? She was in a vault.

"She's awake," A deep, quiet voice whispered. She turned to see Boyd and a girl she didn't recognize nearby. Shock rolled through her system as she tried to logically explain why she was locked in a vault with them. "You're Brooklyn St. James, right?"

"People call me Brooke," She said. "I'm _very_ confused."

"The concussion probably doesn't help," The girl dryly said, though not unkindly. It was more like she was extremely bitter that Brooke was _given_ a concussion, not like she was angry or upset with Brooke for being there.

"Where are we? How did I get here? Who are you? Who took you? Was it him? Was it that guy—the one who…" The reality that she had been kidnapped was almost too much to compute. Brooke stamped down the panic and terror rising in her stomach. "He took me. Right off the side of the freaking _highway!_ And no one even saw! Ennis, I think—" She sucked in a breath when the injury to the back of her head decided to sing in spontaneous pain. It was probably because her adrenaline was fading, and her pain was becoming more and more difficult to ignore.

The girl closed her eyes and leaned into Boyd's shoulder, and Boyd let out a tired breath since apparently he would be left to explain. "All we know is they're alphas."

"Alphas?" Brooke breathlessly repeated, turning her gaze to the metallic safety deposit boxes on the nearby wall as she thought his words over. "Alphas… What?"

"There are some things you should know," Boyd continued, assuming that Brooke didn't know anything about werewolves. "I have no idea why they took you, or why they dumped you here with us, but your whole world is about to change."

" _What?"_ Brooke frowned. Immediately, she started checking herself for further injury, her heart rate spiking dangerously. "Did they bite me!?"

She could see no obvious bite marks anywhere. Hesitantly, she lifted her trembling fingers to the back of her head, as the girl sat up in surprise and she and Boyd looked at each other in bewilderment. "You… You know about… us? What we are?"

Brooke absently nodded. "Hey, can you guys… tell me how bad this is?"

She turned around and dipped her head back, parting her hair.

One of them gasped.

* * *

 **Savannah's POV**

I stared at the dark haired woman with an unreadable expression across my face; barely even registering that Isaac was still clinging to me. "What did you say?"

"I was picturing a redhead for some reason," She told me, tilting her head. "I heard about your temper," She added, as if that explained everything. "But I guess I should have expected you'd look just like him."

"Like who?" Isaac asked, giving voice to the thought that caught in my throat. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Looking between the woman and me, he asked how we knew each other.

"We don't." I let go of Isaac's side but continued to let him lean on me as I frowned suspiciously at the lady. "Who are you?" I asked, looking her over.

And I spotted them too late. Her feet, they were bare—but that's not all. She had some serious claws springing from her toes—like, home girl needed a plastic surgeon because no pedicurist in the world would touch those talons with a ten foot pole—and before I could even fully register what exactly it was I was looking at, the woman picked up Isaac's side table and hurled it at me.

I crashed into the wall with a cry of pain and Isaac stumbled backwards, his arms wind milling as he tried to keep balance by himself.

The woman ran forward and leapt—yes, _leapt_ —over the bed, quickly swinging her leg forward to fly at me with her foot aimed at my face.

I ducked to the side at the last moment despite the deep ache in my hip and stomach from the table she'd just thrown at me. When she landed, she kicked off the wall and came around to try and catch me on the head with a clawed hand. I didn't have time to counter the attack—all I could manage was a quick defense, throwing up my hand to cut her off just before her claws cut into my cheek. Her eyes were all black with her irises the color of thick, red blood. _An alpha._

And it was just a never-ending torrent of me blocking her swings. She'd swipe with one hand, then with the other, and as I swung forward to try and catch her with my own claws she would spin around to duck out of the way and bring her nasty toes back around for me in the process.

I jumped back, and before I could right myself she quickly punched my shoulder and threw me to the ground. She stood over me with her heel on my neck, and I gripped her ankle as tight as I could, my claws cutting into her flesh. When one of them dipped dangerously close to her Achilles tendon she let up and I gasped for breath.

She retreated, so I scrambled to my feet despite not fully being able to breathe normally, grasping at my bruised windpipe with watering eyes.

The woman had turned her focus onto Isaac. She had him pinned to a wall and plunged a syringe into his neck, and he was too weak to fight her off in time. I yanked on a fistful of her hair and threw her onto the ground, stomping her chest as hard as I could.

She let out a cross between a yelp and a cough, and I took grim satisfaction when I heard her ribs crack under my foot. I hoped that it punctured one of her lungs. But before I could feel too glad she swept her leg under my foot still planted on the ground.

I fell forward and my nose and mouth smacked the hard ground, and she jumped up to her feet. The pain erupted in my head from the impact of the fall, and my eyes rolled back in my head slightly. With a loud grunt, she reached down as I still writhed on the floor in pain, hooking one of her arms around the front of my neck and the other around the back in a chokehold.

Blood spurted down my nose, mouth and chin, streaming onto my neck and her arms, and I let out a strangled croak as her arm squeezed harder and harder against my throat, the pressure so tight that I felt like my head would burst like a zit. She pulled up _hard,_ until my toes left the ground. I pathetically reached behind me to smack at her face with one hand and pulled at her elbow around my neck with the other.

Spots danced in my vision and she laughed when my claws raked weakly across her nose. For some inexplicable reason, the pressure on her arm decreased ever so slightly. In the process of letting up, she dropped me back down to the floor so I could stand on my own two feet. I gasped in half a breath and my vision cleared up just barely—just enough to see a man standing in the doorway.

He had his dark brown hair pulled back into a small bun. His shoulders took up nearly the entire doorway, and seeing him in person before me, after all this time, I realized he wasn't as tall as Derek. That's the obscure thought that stood out to me—he's shorter than Derek.

"What are you doing?" He exclaimed at the woman, rage in his voice. My heart stopped beating. I know it did, because when it started up again it clenched with tight, sharp pain, and I gasped in a strangled breath and reached back to grab the woman by her elbow and shoulder. Without missing a beat, I threw all my weight forward and bent down towards the floor. The shock of being lifted through the air caused her to lose grip, and I threw her over my shoulder. She cried out in surprise when I flung her down to the ground and made sure her head cracked against the tiles like mine had done earlier.

I took two giant steps back and panted loudly, looking up at my brother.

My brother. At my _brother_ , standing in front of me with a shocked expression on his face as he looked down at the woman I had just thrown off me like a rag doll. I couldn't find my voice to form the words. A million emotions were churning through me so fast, my head felt light and I knew I was in danger of passing out. He came forward to grab the woman by her shoulder and help her up. "No!" I finally choked out, rushing forward to push my brother back. "Jack, don't! She's not you who you—"

"Jay," The woman wheezed out in a throaty growl, gazing up at us with dazed vision. "Did you know your sister is a beta?"

 _Jay?_ I turned on him, still unable to fully process who I was looking at. He knows her? He's… alive? _Here?_

Jack looked regretful as he peered at me. "We'll talk soon," He told me, and I frowned even deeper in confusion. Before I could ask, his eyes flashed glowing red and his fist connected with my already broken nose, and I crumpled to the ground.

* * *

 **Brooke's POV**

"What did he hit you with, a _cinder block!?"_ The girl wondered aloud, the sarcasm in her voice sounding stronger than anything she'd said yet.

"It felt more like… the Chrysler building," Brooke told them, and Boyd quietly scoffed.

"Well whatever it was, it took a good chunk out." Boyd was apparently the kind of guy to get straight to the point.

Brooke nervously fingered the hair she held parted away from the wound, gritting her teeth because it still stung. "Is it… I mean, you can't like, see skull, right?"

"Oh, _gross_ ," The girl sounded physically sick when she muttered that as Boyd answered in a much more honest and upfront manner.

"It's not _that_ bad. It's bad, but it's not like he tried using you to make an omelet or anything. Still, you'll probably need stitches."

The unspoken _if you get out of here_ hung heavy in the air, and they all quieted for a moment. "How long have you two been stuck here?" Brooke bluntly asked. It was more of an effort to distract herself from the biting sting gnawing at the back of her head, but also, it was a question rooted in selfishness because she was worried that she would be held indefinitely.

As Brooke dropped her hands and turned around to scoot back against the wall, the girl answered. "Days, maybe? How—I mean, how long has he been… missing?"

Brooke couldn't hide a confused frown. Their time perception was clearly miscued. "Well, today is the first day of classes, so…"

If it was possible, the girl went even paler. Boyd looked like he was fighting back vomit. They exchanged a miserable glance and her face scrunched up with anguish.

Brooke shifted awkwardly. "Hey…" She tried, as silent tears streamed down the girl's face and she and Boyd frantically murmured at each other in panicked whispers that Brooke couldn't quite make out. She wished she knew her name. "…Hey, it'll be okay."

As soon as the words came from her mouth, the girl whipped around to send her a look so filled with scorn it took Brooke aback. "Shut up," She hissed, like she meant every syllable of the sentence. "You have no idea what we've been through."

Brooke took half a second to notice, again, the fact that they hadn't been showered in probably the entire time they've been down here. Pair that with the fact that they were coated in layers of sweat and looked physically ill, and it was hard to find it in herself to argue with her. She's right. So Brooke stayed silent, even though she desperately wanted to ask what exactly it _was_ that they've been through—what they hadn't yet told her.

Brooke estimates that maybe three minutes of this went on. Three minutes of the girl panicking, and Boyd calming her down, and then the girl just sitting there with her head in Boyd's shoulder, sobbing like she thought this would never end, when… a nearby door opened.

It sounded like it came from far off. Instantaneously, the girl and Boyd had a visceral reaction. The girl went from miserable to petrified. She still clutched Boyd's jacket in her hands, but she shrank back into a corner and looked absolutely terrified for her life—for _their_ life. Boyd was trying to cover her protectively, but it she seemed just as determined to protect him.

To say it unsettled Brooke to see the two react in such a way at the sound of a _door_ opening would be the understatement of the millennia.

"Get back," Boyd furiously hissed at Brooke. "You have to get back!"

Brooke's head darted around as she tried to find a place to run to. She was closest to the exit, but with Boyd's fervent urgings, she quickly scrambled back towards the pair of them and hid around the corner of the pillar they rested against.

After what felt like an eternity, there was a figure outside the vault. Boyd and the girl had gone still, desperately trying to contain their panicked breathing, as if it lessened the chance that whoever it was standing out there could see them. Brooke was shrank against the pillar and could hardly stand to look at the person who just stood there, looking in at them.

The person seemed to peer closer inside. She couldn't hear breathing—couldn't even make out if the figure was male or female. A wash of light came from behind it, which cast it as a dark silhouette, and honestly it felt like she was living inside a horror movie. It seemed like the moment stretched on forever as the person just looked in at them like they were an exhibit at a zoo.

And then, finally, the figure moved. It stepped down to the floor of the vault. The girl's ragged panting broke briefly to indicate she held her breath, not even daring to _breathe_ , as the person moved closer and closer to them.

Desperately, Brooke wondered why they didn't make a break for it. Why the two werewolves that cowered near her just sat in the farthest corner of their cage instead of bull rushing whomever the hell it was coming inside. It was three against one—why are they just _sitting_ there? The vault is _open!_

A man. It was a man. He approached and Brooke finally realized there was something in his hand. A cane. It swept back and forth in front of him, like the long arm of a radar. He was blind, she realized.

She couldn't tell if that realization made him more or less terrifying.

He stopped directly in front of them, resting his hands casually atop the cane as he loomed over them. Through the shadows, she could just barely make out some semblance of a smile on his face. _More terrifying_. It made him more terrifying. "Hello, Boyd. Cora."

There was an English accent on his tongue, and that struck Brooke at the same moment that the girl's name did. So much was happening, it was impossible for Brooke to understand every single detail that happened. The two didn't respond in the slightest, and the man didn't seem surprised.

He turned his face up and looked square at Brooke, which caused her heart to jump with fright and the hairs everywhere on her body to prickle with unease. "And you," He said, and her breath halted in her throat. "You're coming with me."

For the first time, Boyd moved. It was quick and hardly anything, just his arm reaching out to try and push Brooke further into the corner, but it was enough. The man's cane snapped out and whacked across Boyd's hand, hard enough that a bone audibly cracked, and Boyd roared out a feral snarl as he recoiled in pain and rage.

It was definitely a bold reaction to have, considering Boyd was cowering away from the man only seconds ago. And it was more animated than Brooke had yet to see him. His eyes flashed bright yellow and his fangs were bared.

The man took his sunglasses off to flash bright red eyes down at Boyd in response, and Boyd shrank away immediately in submission.

At this point, Brooke was completely lost. She didn't understand a _thing_ that was happening and she could hardly think of anything to do or say as she looked between all the freaking _werewolves_ in the vault—when did this happen to her? When did she reach a point in her life where _this_ scenario became an even _remote_ possibility to play out in her life?

Suddenly, and violently, she ached for Savannah. She wished deeply that Savannah was here to handle this shit because she had never met anyone who was more sure of themselves than her best friend, and in that moment Brooke wasn't sure of _anything._ She wasn't even sure she would live to see her or anyone else she loved again, as the man with the blood red eyes turned his gaze down to her.

"Brooke," He said, and she tried not to flinch when he used her name. "It's not safe for you down here. I won't ask you again."

Extreme confusion. One—Brooke was pretty sure she felt safer locked here in this vault than she did leaving with that man-wolf-he-demon. Two—he didn't ask in the first place, he basically commanded her to get up and go with him. Three—it's even stranger because he's wording it just vaguely enough that it _does_ sound as though there might be a choice in it for her. Like, if she was bold enough, she could say no to him and stay down there to cower in the corner with Boyd and the girl, _Cora_.

But some smaller, more distant part of her knew, if she stayed down here with them, it wouldn't be without consequence. Somehow, she knew it wasn't that simple. Call it instinct.

So, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do, Brooke stood. The two beside her didn't make a sound, but watched her go with grim expressions. Boyd's eyes were still yellow and Cora had grabbed onto him with a firm grip, like she was ready to restrain him if she had to.

And the man seemed pleased at Brooke's voluntary decision to obey him. He smiled at her, and even though he might have intended it to be praising, it made her stomach turn and she averted her eyes as he ushered her toward the exit of the vault.

Her legs were shaking—in fact, every part of her body trembled with fear and uncertainty, as he led her to the other side of the vault. She turned back to look for her companions who were still cowering in the back corner. They were not visible from this angle, and she suddenly wondered how the man had been staring directly at them when he's apparently blind—and she abruptly decided he wasn't everything he seemed, as the large door of the vault loudly swung shut.

* * *

 **Savannah's POV**

When I woke, I was lying on something. I jumped up with a gasp, ready to defend myself from another fist, but as I crouched over the musty, soot-coated couch I was on I realized I wasn't in the hospital. I was in Derek's house, near a table with Isaac splayed across it.

"Hey!" Scott exclaimed, relief audible in his voice as he came towards me. "Take it easy, you were out for a long time."

"What happened?" I demanded, rising out of the crouching position I'd taken on the couch. It resulted in me standing on the furniture, causing me to loom over Scott's head for a moment. "Where is he?" I asked, my voice low.

"Who?" Scott asked, reaching out to help me down. I ignored his hand and stepped down onto the floor and kept moving past him, seeking Derek because I knew he was here.

"You know who," I said, staring directly at Derek. "You _lied_ to me!"

Derek was already frowning at me. "No," He corrected. "I had no idea your brother was alive!"

"Wait—what?" Scott exclaimed. We ignored him.

"Bull shit!" I jabbed my finger towards Derek and Derek rolled his eyes as I continued. "You knew about everything! You always do!" He opened his mouth but I didn't give him the chance. "And I should expect it by now, but _this?_ Derek, _this?_ This isn't something you lie about!"

He seemed adamant as he came closer. "I didn't _know_ ," He firmly denied.

I ignored him. "I _trusted_ you," I admitted with a hiss, stepping away to keep some distance between us.

Scott was just at my side, and he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder that I recoiled from. He looked somewhat offended, but now was not the time to touch me.

"Savannah, I swear, I didn't know!" Derek insisted.

I continued to ignore him, turning my gaze onto Scott. "Did he tell you?" I asked, even though there was some larger part of me that knew Scott would never lie to me about this. But I couldn't stop now—the emotions that coursed through me were way too potent. In fact, my eyes stung slightly and my voice sounded pathetically vulnerable as I looked at Scott like he'd just ripped a kitten apart. "Did you lie, too?"

"No," Scott earnestly pled, looking like he desperately wanted me to believe him. "Savannah, no!"

I took a breath and nodded at him, my gaze momentarily flickering to the floor. _He's alive._ It's true, what my gut had been trying to tell me for _weeks_ had finally been confirmed. My brain still didn't want to believe it. My heart didn't trust what my eyes saw.

I looked back at Derek. "He _punched_ me," I told him, as if it was the most ridiculous thing.

It looked like it actually made Derek sorry to hear that. "I didn't see that. I didn't see anything," He told me, again. "Because I didn't know! Not until we got there."

I swiped angrily at my cheek. "Fine," I snapped, and Derek's frown deepened. "You _didn't know_ ," I said, almost mockingly, because a large part of me still doubted him. "Whatever."

A moment of silence descended over us.

"It doesn't make sense," Derek finally voiced aloud. "How is it possible?"

I gave him a venomous look. "Seriously?" He's asking me how it's possible?

" _You_ were the one who saw him die," Derek suddenly accused, and I stiffened in hostile defense. "So why isn't he dead?"

" _Yeah_ ," I snarled, since clearly Derek needs to be reminded of what that means. "I did! I _did_ see him die!"

Abruptly, Derek looked almost ashamed. He glanced at Scott hesitantly, unable to look at me as I continued.

"You of all people should know how that felt. _You_ of all people should know how I feel, how _none_ of this makes sense."

Derek looked at the ground, his jaw tense. An unspoken apology passed between us, and I scoffed and turned sharply on my heel to walk away from him.

"Savannah, wait!" Scott called, and I ignored him. "You can't leave! We need to figure out—"

The front door burst open. Behind it, Stiles barreled into the house. Suddenly, an ache I didn't know I had fell from my chest, and it was a little easier to breathe. He looked frantic, and as soon as he saw me he let out the same breath I just did. I don't know who moved first, but before I knew it I was in his arms and I expected him to yell at me but he didn't. He just grabbed me and pulled me to him tightly, offering me a comfort I didn't know how to ask for.

I clung to him as hard as I dared, because he was the only thing that made sense anymore. Everything else was a mess—but not him. Not this.

I drew in a trembling breath, my throat aching, and Stiles pressed a kiss to the side of my head where he had been burying his face. Against my hair, he whispered, "A flock of crows flew into our classroom this morning."

I snorted out a laugh and he chuckled along with me. "My brother knocked me out this morning. And I think I met Rex's mom. And Peter threatened to tear out my jugular."

" _What_ —" Stiles dropped his arms in shock and stepped away to look at my face, his hands on my shoulders. "Who?"

"Peter," I clarified. "This morning when I left—"

"No," Stiles impatiently shook his head. "Savannah, what are you talking about? You saw Jack?"

"At the hospital," I nodded, looking down. With a final squeeze of his hand, I stepped away to explain, wrapping my arms around myself. "This morning, I got a call from Melissa and she told me that Isaac was there."

"Yeah," Stiles acknowledged, looking to Scott. "Scott told me about what happened to Isaac. At least, he told me about what he saw when he got there. What happened before that?"

I knew that the other two were wondering the same thing, so I addressed them all as I continued. "When I got there, Isaac said something about twins. He was trying to tell me what happened but we didn't exactly have time to chitchat, so I told him to shut up and helped him out of bed. Before we could even make it to the door a woman came in his room. She was dressed like a nurse, but… she definitely _wasn't_ a nurse."

Derek looked grave and Scott seemed somewhat confused as I continued.

"She was a werewolf. We fought, she injected Isaac with something, and before I knew it she had me in a chokehold. I almost passed out—but then my brother showed up, and I was able to get her off, and… I didn't even grab Isaac to make sure he was okay. I was just so surprised."

"Well, Savannah, your _dead_ brother walked in the room. I think you would be a little surprised," Stiles excused.

"And Isaac is fine," Scott reassured me. "He's already healed."

Before I could breathe a sigh of relief at least at that, Derek ruined it. "On the outside, he's healed. But he was attacked by an alpha. Those wounds cut a lot more deep." He went to lay a handful of purple flowers that he'd been gathering from the vines and weeds growing through his decrepit house at Isaac's side. "These should help wake him up."

"What about your brother?" Stiles wanted to know. "What about Jack?"

I almost flinched at his name, and at the memory. "He… I'm pretty sure he knew the woman who attacked me. At first I just thought… I just assumed he was there for _me_ for some reason. But that definitely wasn't true. He told me we would talk soon."

"Well, that's _great_. Did he look… you know..." Stiles asked, and elaborated at our questioning looks. "Healthy?"

I immediately nodded. "He's an alpha," Scott supplied, before I could breathe a word, and I turned to him in shock. I was so swept up in the wake of my own short interaction with Jack; I didn't even consider that Scott and Derek could have seen him. "He's _strong_."

"They were both alphas," I realized, looking up from the floor I was frowning at. I looked to Derek. " _Two_ alphas?"

"Three," Scott corrected, citing some other werewolf I hadn't seen. "How many are there?" He suddenly asked Derek, suspicious.

Derek was caught. He sighed and finally admitted, "A pack of them. An alpha pack."

It was one of those moments when it literally _feels_ like your mind explodes with revelation. My eyes widened and I looked somewhere in the distance, my eyes unfocusing as I absorbed this new information, my heart racing. My brother… he's an alpha in an alpha pack?

"Well why are they here? What do they want?" Stiles wanted to know, and I perked up at the question.

Derek's voice flattened to a monotonous tone, like he was just bracing himself for the backlash he knew was coming his way. "I'm not sure, but… they have Boyd and Erica. Isaac, Peter and I have been looking for them for months."

I stiffened in surprise. " _Months?"_ I asked, at the same moment Scott marched forward, his shoulders almost as tense as his voice.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Scott demanded, and I was suddenly tired. Tired of having this same argument over… and over… and over with Derek. It's like I can't see him without that same accusatory question being thrown in his face.

And apparently he felt the same way. "You're just kids!" He finally exclaimed. "You should be in high school, worrying about classes and dances! Not a couple missing teenagers."

Stiles grabbed my hand, because he knew what I was thinking even as I thought it. I wasn't worried about a couple missing _teenagers_. I was worried about my missing—or, _not_ missing— _brother_.

"It's about more than that now," I finally told everyone, giving voice to the reality we were rapidly coming to grips with. "An alpha pack is in town, and it's starting to kidnap werewolves. That's a problem. That's _our_ problem."

Derek's jaw was tight, and I could see the muscle jumping from here as he glared at me, his nostrils flared. "So are you going to help me stop them?"

" _Yeah_ ," I said, mockingly, which sounded strange because of what I was agreeing to. "I'm going to help."

"We all are," Scott nodded, and Stiles nodded along with him.

Derek let out a resigned sigh, his arms crossed. "Good."


	66. Fever

_**So this is a longer chapter! Finally, lol. But here's a rather important head's up: This chapter contains sex. Like, detailed sex. To be fair, I did up the rating of this thing to M. I have said that before, but I will say it again. This fic is rated M, for mature audiences. This chapter contains a scene with sexual themes. You'll know it when you see it. So if that's something that you'd rather not read... well, I would suggest skimming through it just to make sure you don't miss anything vital to the story. I don't want to spoil too much.**_

 _ **Also, I'm really tired right now. I've been working a lot, so sorry if there are hella mistakes in this. Also, sorry for saying hella.**_

 ** _Kbye THX FOR READING_**

* * *

I've been looking for you, baby  
In every face that I've ever known  
And there is something 'bout the way you love me  
That finally feels like home

\- _Sweetest Devotion, by Adele_

* * *

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The clock's hand turned, steadily. Dependently. It reverberated every thought that passed through my mind.

 _He's alive._ Tick. _Somehow, he lived._ Tick. _He fell, but he's alive._ Tick. _Or did he fall?_ Tick. _Did I imagine it?_ Tick… Tick. _No, that's not possible_. Tick. _But_ _it's also impossible for him to be alive._ Tick. _That means I'm insane._

"Savannah." Stiles' voice replaced the next tick.

I chewed anxiously at my thumbnail. When we got home late last night, we were so exhausted that we immediately went to pass out. Neither of us woke up until late this morning, so Sheriff had already left by the time we stirred from the dead.

Stiles and I ran a few errands today—going to get some oil for the jeep, and swinging by the car wash while we were at it. I looked over my shoulder constantly today, waiting to see Jack standing off somewhere in the distance, staring at me or something. Watching. Waiting. Needless to say, my paranoia was at an all-time high, along with my anxiety.

Dinner was a silent affair… at least it was for me. Stiles made half-hearted attempts at conversation, but I was so lost in my own thoughts that eventually he gave up and just watched me worriedly, sneaking glances that he didn't think I could see. After he was finished eating Stiles watched some TV, but I retreated straight to his room and sat in this chair, and I've been here ever since.

Stiles came to glance through some homework he'd been assigned in English—briefly bitching about how he knew the new teacher would be a hard ass just by the fact that she assigned homework on the _first day_ , despite the stunningly accurate reenactment of Alfred Hitchcock's _The_ _Birds_ during class yesterday. All of that, and still, reading an entire story was due next class.

"Babe."

I'd chewed so far past the quick that the skin broke. Tick. I sucked in a hiss and frowned down to watch as blood beaded at the tip of my thumb. Tick.

Stiles' phone pinged, and I looked up, blinking out of my trance. Stiles noticed and put his hand out exasperatedly. "Seriously?" He said, like I should know what he was talking about. I blinked at him. " _That's_ what you hear? I call to you for ten minutes, and you hear a freaking text message?"

"Who was it?" I asked, ignoring him.

"We still have to talk about what happened," He said, ignoring _me_.

"Was it Derek?" I ignored again.

"Savannah, you're bottling things up again. You can't bottle things up. You don't handle bottled emotions—" He broke off. He was going to say _well_ ; I didn't handle them well, but apparently that didn't quite cover it. " _At all._ You don't handle them period, until something shakes you, and then you explode."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Nice metaphor."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't want you to explode. _No one_ wants you to explode. So talk, please."

I sighed loudly and let my shoulders drop from their tense position they'd been in since I sat down three hours ago, rolling my head to look at him. I tried to be annoyed, but he just looked so worried, and when I saw his concerned expression I felt the overwhelming sense of affection that his expression unintentionally conveyed.

Heavily, I sighed again. My feet pushed at the ground and I rolled the chair back from his desk until it backed into the bed beside him, reaching out to grab his hand at the same moment he reached for me. "Wanna have sex?" I asked him, and his concerned expression broke with a loud snort.

His eyes flashed down to my lips despite himself, and I could see his eyes darken even though I know he was trying to be serious. "Yeah," He bluntly said, but he made no move towards me. "After you _talk_ to me."

"Fine, _Stella_ ," I teased, using the female name I recently started calling him when I was trying to imply that he was being overly sensitive.

He withdrew his hand. "No sex for you," He chided, and I giggled at him, taking a moment to let my eyes flicker over him dominantly.

"We'll see," I said with a wink, and Stiles sighed at me. A moment passed where he just stared at me expectantly, and even though it made me uncomfortable, I let out a grudging groan and turned to climb onto the bed beside him. "Fiiiiine," I whined, and Stiles petted the top of my butt like I was a dog.

"Good girl," He told me, just because he knew it would piss me off. He snickered when my foot came around to swipe at him.

"Stilinski, I swear to god," I jokingly warned, and he boldly smacked my butt. I laughed despite the blatant disregard he took to my ' _warning',_ and turned over to grin at him because he was the only one who could get me to laugh even as I was going through all of this. With another loud sigh, I finally tried to collect my thoughts, and Stiles just waited patiently, running his hand over my leg comfortingly where it still rested across his lap.

It was hard to think of where to start. My mind had been running circles for so long, it was hard to remember where my thought process began. "I mean—I guess I just don't know what it means," I told him. Stiles nodded and I paused before I continued. "If he's alive, then why—I mean—how long has he been _like_ this? How long has he been supernatural? How long has he been a _werewolf?"_

I let my eyes drift back to Stiles, letting him know that last question wasn't rhetorical. "Well if he survived that fall then he's been like this for a pretty long time, I guess. At _least_ since just before then," Stiles estimated.

I looked back at the ceiling, frowning in thought. "How did I not see this sooner? Everything we knew pointed to it—but I was just… I was so _sure_ , Stiles—I am still so sure! I know what I saw that night."

"Sort of," Stiles hesitantly said in a way that actually said _but not really._ "You didn't have the whole truth that night, Savannah. It was impossible for you to really know what you saw, because—you didn't _know_."

It was obviously a tough thing for me to articulate into words. I was so lost—so _confused_ ; I was desperate to grasp any possible explanation that came my way, and I had been coming up short all night. Stiles was providing me with an excuse that seemed at least slightly rational. Something that gave me a little leeway. Up to now, I felt like it was my fault for not figuring it out sooner. Because to be honest at this point the whole thing—my _life_ —is beginning to feel like… one huge, cruel joke.

Does anyone understand what that night _did_ to me? Can _anyone_ see how completely it devastated me? If my life wasn't already basically over, I made sure to completely destroy everything when I pushed Jack off that cliff. Or… so I thought.

And now he's _alive?_ After all these years? And he has been this whole _time?_ And I'm just supposed to _accept_ that?

I don't know how. Does he know what I thought I did to him? Can he possibly understand the guilt that I have carried with me every day?

"Savannah," Stiles said, startling me from my thoughts. I hadn't realized that he'd inched closer. His lips were downturned at the corners, his eyes flicking between mine. "You look like you're about to do something stupid. What are you thinking?"

He looked as if he could _see_ me folding into myself and felt helpless to stop it. And that made me feel guilty, so I reached out to lay my hand over his on my leg. "Do you want the whole thing, or just the cliff notes?"

Stiles didn't even hesitate. "Everything."

I sighed and brought my hands away from him to sit up and rub my face. "I'm still trying to piece it together. I feel like I'm playing catch up, but I'm three years behind… if that even makes sense. I guess it explains why he was so distant after mom and dad died. I just don't understand why he never _told_ me he was bitten!" And then, I thought about it for another second. "Actually, scratch that. I do understand. It just _sucks_. You know?"

Stiles sighed sympathetically, his hand coming forward once more to offer me some comfort. The only comfort he could provide for me at a time like this.

"I wonder if _that's_ why he never really took me in. Because he wanted to keep me separate from that life, even if it meant I had to be in a foster home I hated. He thought he was doing the right thing." At Stiles' face, I clarified. "He never really knew I was on the streets, I don't think. The last I think he knew, I would just avoid my foster home. The last he knew, I would just stay out in shelters."

Stiles was extremely quiet, because I never talk about that part of my life.

I was on a roll now. There was something about the intense way he was listening, and the way his hand never stopped running comfortingly across my leg, and the way I could literally _feel_ that he wanted me to continue talking… So I did.

"That's how it started, you know," I told him, glancing down only briefly before looking away again. "I would go to homeless shelters. But those weren't always available. They only have so many beds, and they fill up fast. So sometimes I would get there too late. After that it was either go back to that foster house, where I definitely wouldn't have a bed to sleep on and would likely get whatever I had on me taken after I fell asleep… or go out and find somewhere to hide for the night."

I don't know why I was telling him about all this, to be honest. It was just easier to talk about things that I knew were true. Everything that happened after Jack died… I could tell him about _that_ without feeling like I had to guess or fill in the blanks. Absently, I ran my hand through my hair, my nervous tick. "And once I was on the streets it was only a matter of time before I started using drugs. Those were… a given. They were even easier to get than food." I snorted bitterly, pausing slightly to look over at Stiles. "Isn't that fucked up?"

"I hate that you lived that," He told me, his eyes locked on mine as he said it, so that I knew he meant every word. "No one should be alone like that." Moments like that, when he was so deeply protective that he looked almost— _guilty_ was the only word I could think of for it—for some unfathomable reason… those moments were still alien to me. I don't think I'll ever be used to someone caring for me the way he does.

I looked away with a dismissive laugh that my heart wasn't in. "We don't get to choose how life plays out sometimes. Some things are just beyond our control." My parents. Jack. "But other things… those are completely in our control. And drugs?" I looked back at Stiles. "Those were in my control."

"You were addicted," He said, as if that should change anything. Stiles shook his head. "There's no controlling that."

"Stop." I was annoyed. Pulling my leg out from under his hand and off of his lap, I sat back to frown at him. "I don't mind that you're proud of me now. I might not agree with you, but I won't tell you how to feel about me _now_. But I don't want you to excuse who I used to be. It's not…" I looked down, shaking my head. "It's not _right_."

Stiles wanted to roll his eyes. I could tell by the expression on his face that he thought I was being overly dramatic. "Okay, Savannah," He smartly said. "It's _wrong_ of me to have my own opinion on how you dealt with being abandoned in the streets."

"Stiles…" I wanted to tell him to stop, but I didn't want to fight. He knew it too. He sighed.

"Savannah," He challenged, unapologetic. I _really_ didn't want to fight, so I dropped it, even though I was still perturbed.

I sighed loudly. "And Jack. He looks so different now." It was a bizarre detail to latch onto; I'm fully aware of that. But it was stuck in my head all the same.

"Different how?" Stiles curiously asked, the defensiveness draining out of him in favor of sating his inquisitive nature.

"He's got long hair now, for one," I said with a wrinkle of my nose. Stiles smirked and raised an eyebrow. "It's long enough to pull back into a man bun."

"Oh, gross," Stiles joked, mimicking my wrinkled nose. "A man bun? Is your brother a hipster?"

"God, I hope not," I laughed. "He didn't have a beard or anything, so maybe it's just… the hair." I sighed loudly because my attempt at trying to excuse his change in style was failing miserably. "How can I be talking about this so casually?"

Stiles quickly shook his head. "I was wondering the same thing," He admitted. At that, shame flooded me, and I shifted uneasily on the bed. Am I a horrible person? Should I still be reduced to a quivering mess right now? Should the mere thought of my brother being alive reduce me to tears, as it has for so many years?

"What's _wrong_ with me?" I murmured in a moment of vulnerability and a deeper unsettled nausea.

"Savannah—I don't think there's anything _wrong_ with you," Stiles shook his head. "You're confused. _I'm_ confused! I mean there's not a healthy way to react to this, right? Because this has literally _never_ happened before to anyone."

"Derek," I reminded him. Stiles' eyebrows skyrocketed.

"Whoa! I forgot about that! That's… true. So, if we're comparing it to Derek's reaction… you are handling this freakishly well. A _very_ healthy reaction."

"Not sure what DSM _you're_ reading out of, but I have to disagree."

Stiles laughed at me, amused for some reason that I was too far invested to comprehend. "There's no handbook for this, Savannah. Give yourself a break."

"You know what I think it is? It's because it still doesn't seem real. I'm in shock or something about it."

"Your brother stopped some crazy woman from killing you with her bare hands," Stiles summarized, and he might as well have been reading from a Mad Lib book, it made such little sense to me.

"Actually, I threw her off of my _self_ ," I cockily corrected. "And _then_ my dead brother knocked me out."

"Oh, right." Stiles smartly pretended to correct himself, touching the side of his head. "Forgot about that. Also, didn't you mention that the woman acted like she was Rex's mother?"

"Yeah, honestly, I don't know what was going on there," I admitted with a shake of my head. I rolled over to rest my head on his lap. "She was really weird. Her toenails were nasty, she could have been mentally unstable for all I know."

Stiles laughed at me. Then, taking a moment to study the freckles on my nose, he reached down to brush my hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear. I couldn't help but feel touched at how gentle he was with me, and I grinned up at him. His lips turned up in response and he watched me reach up to wrap a hand around the back of his neck, craning my head up towards his face as I pulled him down to me. I pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and he ran his hand from the side of my head to the side of my neck.

I finally broke apart from him. He placed his hand on my waist pull me closer to him. "So…" he said, sounding slightly uncertain of himself still. Even though he wasn't a virgin, there were still often times while we were intimate that he seemed nervous and self-conscious, and now was one of those times as his eyes flickered down to how we were intertwined. "Is there anything else you wanted to say? Or can—I mean, is it okay if we…"

I couldn't help but grin hugely at him, at how adorable he was when he was anxious like this. In an answer, I helped him tug his shirt off and giggled at how eagerly he pulled it off, even jerking his head slightly to grin at me, and looking strangely like an overeager puppy. I placed a hand against his chest to push him back on the bed and he watched me readily, grabbing at my leg to tug it impatiently over his side. As I straddled over him, I didn't sit completely, sort of hovering over top him on all fours. With his free hand Stiles pulled me down into another kiss. I smiled against his lips and he moved his hand from behind my knee up the back of my thigh, until it was just at the edge of the bottom of my shorts. I pulled back and opened my eyes to look down at him, noticing the way my hair was in his face, and I took a moment to admire him. His hand tightened on the soft flesh just below my butt.

He watched me looking at him, at his longer hair that he knew I loved and the slight shadow he had across his chin and jaw from neglecting to shave in the wake of everything that happened recently. I wondered if the surprise of finding me gone yesterday morning meant he had forgotten to shave in time.

It was rare to see any sort of hair growth on his face, and I was fascinated at how the look slightly changed his appearance, making him look older. It wasn't that I didn't like it—I did—but it made him look somewhat unfamiliar, and that was new to me.

I looked back to his eyes which flicked up from somewhere below my neck. I looked down to see what he had been staring at and saw that my tank top had dipped low from me hanging over top him and slightly exposed the tight valley between my breasts. He flashed a boyish, unapologetic grin at being caught, and I flushed with amusement as I leaned forward to press a kiss to his jaw, right along where the stubble had started to grow. He still gripped the back of my thigh, his fingers splayed daringly high and deep in between my legs, and Stiles knew exactly what he was doing when he let one of his fingers brush against the edge of the sensitive skin between my inner thighs, not quite touching where I wanted.

He must have sensed it when I tensed and held my breath in anticipation, because he smirked and licked his lips. I don't even think he realized he did it, but seeing him that way, seeing how much he wanted me… it made it easy to forget everything else. I ran my hands across his shoulders hungrily, utterly turned on at the way he looked just then. He let go of the back of my leg and I was mildly disappointed until his hand brushed feather-light across my stomach and around to my back where he pressed against my spine to push me down and closer to him. He was trying to get me to straddle him, but I was more focused on burning a trail of kisses from his jaw up to his ear.

I let him pull me down to his lap at the same moment that my lips grazed his earlobe, and experimentally, I nipped at the tender skin there. His breath caught in his throat and his grip on my waist tightened ever so slightly, and I grinned devilishly at his response.

Encouraged, I pressed wet kisses from just below his ear and continued down his neck, lightly letting my teeth graze his skin and occasionally sucking. Stiles slid his hand down my back until his hand snuck under my shirt, and he let his fingers dip into the top of my shorts before he pulled at the hem of my shirt.

I continued the trail of kisses I blazed down his neck, not stopping even as I reached the planes of his pecs. He pulled the shirt over my head and glued his gaze to my chest. I hadn't been wearing a bra, so I was completely bared to him, and I felt my nipples tighten in response to his darkened eyes. He didn't even have to touch me and I got goosebumps of exhilaration.

I lowered myself even further, and I heard a small sigh of protest, his way of voicing his discontent. I smirked and gently pressed a hand to his thigh, running it upwards and stealing the sigh from his throat. I could feel him watching me as I moved back to sit on his legs so I could use both hands. I ran one hand farther up his thigh and unbuttoned his jeans, which were still on, and helped him pull them down his legs.

When I leaned over the bed to dispose of his jeans he reached up and hooked his fingers through the top of my shorts to try and repay the favor, but I stilled his hands and looked down at him intently.

"Here, let me help," He offered, misunderstanding me.

I shook my head. "Patience, Stilinski," I told him.

Curiously, he watched as I bent forward to kiss him deeply, my hand returning to his thigh. Stiles' breathing grew short when I rubbed him through his boxers, feeling triumphant at how much he had responded to my advances in such a short amount of time. He was already quite aroused, and as I had done earlier with his ear, I let my teeth nip gently at his bottom lip when I reached inside his boxers and wrapped my fingers around him. It never ceased to amaze me; how he could feel so hot and hard, and yet soft; velvety smooth under my hand, and how he responded to my touch. I pressed another kiss to his bottom lip and finally started pumping.

Stiles' hips jerked in a needy manner, pressing towards me as he grabbed me by the back of the thighs to try and pull me over top him. I bit his lip a little harder this time, surprising him and making him lose his grip briefly, and in reward, I stroked up his length.

A breath hissed out of his throat and I looked up to see how intensely he was feeling every move I made, his eyes darkened so much as he peered back at me that I felt my heart swell in my chest at the emotions I saw there. When we were like this, his eyes conveyed what he was feeling even if he couldn't seem to find the words. I was always more of a talker than he was.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his as I continued doing what I was doing, and Stiles kissed me back hungrily. Apparently growing impatient at my teasing, Stiles gripped my upper arms and pushed me back, pulling my hand out of his boxers at the same moment he broke the kiss.

I raised my eyebrows as he pushed me up and flipped us over, tossing me down onto the bed so that I bounced slightly and the springs squeaked playfully. I giggled at the slightly miffed expression on his face, like he felt like he was falling behind and this was a contest or something.

He yanked my shorts down my legs and actually laughed a little, like he had finally bested me or something, and my laugh echoed his as he tossed the small shorts over his shoulder and they landed somewhere behind his desk. I smiled up at him and he paused, looking down at me with a suddenly serious expression.

I felt my smile fading and wondered what he was thinking with that intense expression he wore. He looked down at me like… like he was suddenly realizing that I was something fragile, which couldn't be further from the truth. Still, it's the only way I know to describe the look in his face. His eyes trailed back up to me, with his eyebrows drawn tightly together, and without saying anything or explaining what just happened he bent down to capture me with a deep, urgent kiss.

I felt a rush of warmth flooding between my legs when Stiles slid his hand up my thigh. As soon as he cupped his hand over the thin fabric of my panties, I gasped and my back arched with need, our lips breaking apart. Stiles rubbed his fingers gently, perfectly over me, and he pressed his lips to my throat when I let out an involuntary whimper. His fingers felt dizzyingly good, but they only stoked the fire and made an ache begin to grow. I wanted him; there was no denying it.

He slid his fingers up to the elastic of my panties, and I pressed my butt down into the mattress to make it easier for him to dip his fingers inside. I bent my head back and sighed when he kissed his way down my throat, to the top of my clavicle. His fingers danced between my legs and I squirmed slightly, the pleasure unreal as he pressed a kiss down between my breasts.

We had only had sex a few times before this, but he was learning so quickly it often took me aback. There were times when he would suddenly become shy and sheepish, looking so vulnerable and unguarded and I felt—as sappy as it sounds— _privileged_ to see that side of him, as I was sure there were no other people in his life that witnessed it. Then there were other times, like now, when he seemed to know _exactly_ what he was doing. I supposed he just learned by how I responded to his touch—when the pressure was just right and a gasp broke my silence or a whimper praised his efforts.

His mouth was at the swell of my breast and I saw stars explode behind my closed eyes when his teeth grazed my nipple. My legs came up to wrap around his hips and tug him down, and he smiled against my skin and chuckled as I pulled at him.

"Wait," I suddenly said, and Stiles paused to look up at me from over my chest in alarm, his hand stilling between my legs. I panted lightly as I peered down at him with a slight frown, like I was unsure of whether this was the right time to say it or not. But it felt urgent, like if I didn't say it this instant I would explode and he'd already said he didn't want that, so… Holding my breath, I blurted, "I love you."

Stiles' face blanked and he gawked up at me. For a moment, neither of us moved—neither of us breathed. Panic gripped me and I wondered if I pushed too far. My eyes fluttered.

"I just—I mean, I wanted to be… clear about that," I quickly tried to explain. "I—I just… do. I mean, it's obvious, probably, but I realized I hadn't said it and with everything happening I realized that people— _die_ —all the time—and then they _don't_ —but in the end it doesn't matter because all that matters is how you treated them when they were alive—" my voice actually broke and I took a deep shaking breath filled with raw emotion, suddenly and unexpectedly overcome with adoration and affection for this boy, because even when I thought that I loved him more than it was physically possible to love someone there was _more_ , always more with him. "And I don't want to make any mistakes with you and I just think that not saying that out loud would have been a mistake—" I broke off with another shaking breath and a nervous laugh and Stiles withdrew his hand and sat up to hover over top of me. I sank back in the pillows shyly and my eyes fluttered again as my breath sputtered. A moment of silence passed. "Sorry."

"Stop," He frowned. "Don't—" He sighed at me. "Don't _apologize_ after saying something like that, Savannah." Fondly, cautiously, he reached up to touch his hand to the side of my face. His touch was so gentle, so soft, and the annoyance melted from his face as he looked down at me and thought about what I said again. I wiggled vulnerably and glanced away, but when I opened my mouth to clarify more, he took advantage and stole the moment for a deep kiss.

I felt everything he couldn't say. It's weird because between the two of us it would make more sense for _me_ to be the one who's uncomfortable with grand declarations—but it's actually the other way around. It's more like I'm afraid of _not_ saying what I feel because I know that I come off as uncaring, whereas Stiles is constantly unsure of how to express what he feels. And he's never been good with words, so when it comes to something important like this I think he hates stuttering and that's why he'd rather just show me as best as he can and hope that's enough to get his point across.

And right now, he is trying _really hard_ to make a point. He kissed me but it was unlike any kiss we'd shared before. Stiles' hands were on both sides of my face, gently holding me, and it made me feel like it did earlier when he peered down at me so tenderly, like I was fragile and made of glass. His lips were gentle and reverent, and his eyebrows were cinched together slightly as he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss, somehow deeper than it's ever been, his tongue sweeping across mine.

I wrapped my legs around him again, and at this point I was literally clinging to him as he continued to escalate the kiss. He had noticed the intense response he'd gotten from me earlier, when his fingers were between my legs and he was paying rapt attention to my chest, so one of his hands left my cheek to go down to there, accidentally grazing some skin on my chest on the way down. He touched me lightly at first—brushing across the smooth skin in a way that ran shivers down my spine.

He broke our kiss and I panted, going light headed from lack of air as his hand became more and more bold in its exploration. Kneading the flesh under his palm, then abruptly letting up to flick his fingers in a dance. It was as though he'd thrown a lightning bolt to my nerves, and I cried out in surprise.

Stiles lowered his face down to my chest and I was overcome with the brilliant sensation, struck by how erotic it was to see the top of his head. And then, as I said before, just when I thought I was at the peak of stimulation, there was more. Stiles looked up. His eyes were filled with a predatory intention and I'd never seen such a raw nature from him before.

When he went even further down I gasped and started to sit up in surprise, my hand flying to the top of his head. Stiles had both hands between my thighs, pushing them apart, and my heart jumped into my throat in shock. He paused to look up at me to see if I wanted him to stop, his face poised over the top of me, and I swallowed thickly, curiosity and trust stopping me and nothing more. I'm sure I looked like a deer in headlights, and his gaze softened and he lowered his eyes.

Slowly, he peeled the underwear down my hips, past my thighs, and kept going. Over my knees, off my feet, until he tossed them and they fluttered behind him to the floor. Stiles returned his attention to between my legs and I suddenly wanted to clench my thighs shut.

It was bizarre, and a sensation I was wholly unused to when his lips grazed me and then kissed me tenderly _there._ Panicked and extremely self-conscious, I almost told him to stop, but then when his tongue flicked out, my head fell back and I lost track of time and everything around us except for him and how it felt.

Pure waves of ecstasy rolled through me with every stroke, every graze that he made. I knotted my fingers in his thick dark hair, pushing his head closer as his tongue slid up, needing _more_. When it grazed the side of a particularly sensitive spot near the top, I lost it. I cried out in shock and Stiles stilled at my over-the-top response. Gingerly, he did it again, and I thought I would black out then and there.

He didn't stop until I was shattered, decimated with this new sensation I'd never known I needed before now. When the last waves left me all but twitching, Stiles looked up at me and grinned massively, apparently proud of himself, and I had the overwhelming urge to bury my face beneath a pillow.

"Was that okay?" He asked, even though he already knew the answer, and I mildly wondered where that shyness from before had disappeared to.

My face was hot and I felt my heart hammering in my throat as I said, "Where the hell did you learn _that_ , Stiles?"

Stiles kept his secret with a content hint of a grin, rising back up to hover over me. I slid my legs back around him and pulled him as closely as he would allow, and I was nice enough to pause so he could speak before I attacked his lips with mine. "The internet," He admitted, and I didn't even acknowledge him as I finally kissed him.

I recoiled on instinct because he tasted—well, I suppose like me. Stiles raised his eyebrows at me when I looked at him in surprise and he gave me a soft smile, pressing his lips to mine.

"I like it," He suddenly declared, and I thought I'd die from mortification right there. "Because it's you."

"Shut _up_ ," I growled and swatted his smooth back, and he laughed loudly until I retaliated by grinding our hips together. He broke off with a gasp and it occurred to me that even through all of that, through everything he'd just done, he was still aroused. "You're amazing," I told him, honestly, matter-of-factly.

He looked at me like my compliment caught him off guard, like he was unsure of what to say or how to respond. I resolved then and there to make more of an effort to let him know just _how_ amazing he was… starting now.

I thought of what he just inspired in me, that intense pleasure that I had never felt before I knew him, and how no one had ever bothered to even _try_ that with me. "I'm serious," I said, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. He laughed nervously and glanced away, trying to distract me by running his fingers through my hair and grasping the side of my waist. Undeterred, I thought of my favorite things about him. "You're funny. Did you know that?"

Stiles seemed like he didn't know what to do with himself, smiling a smile that insincerely conveyed that this was fine. "I'm confused," He admitted. "Was that… are you being serious?"

I laughed, grabbing his face. "Yes! See? You're funny, and you're loyal. You're fiercely loyal." I paused. "To a fault, maybe."

He blinked. "Savannah?"

"And you're…" I tried to find the words, to properly thank him for everything he's done for me. Taken me in. Put up with my bad attitude. Taken my crazy drama in stride. Taken care of me. There were no words I could find, nothing I could think to say that was worthy of what he deserved to hear. Words fell short. "You're everything."

He kissed me again, obviously trying to shut me up, perhaps because he had no idea what to say, and I slowed down his urgent movements. He reached over to his nightstand and retrieved a condom. Stiles brought the metallic colored plastic to his teeth and ripped at it, pulling out the bright rubber circle excitedly.

I took it from him and he visibly pouted, because he knew I would go slow and not rush, and he was _ready_. He pouted, at least, until I started to put it on him. Then he was lost in the sensation, in how I made it as pleasurable as I could since I knew the rubber actually took away from some of the sensation that may otherwise be possible without its presence.

Stiles pushed me back onto the pillows when it was on, pushing his legs between mine and looking up at me with that same shy expression that he used before. Maybe it was because I had embarrassed him with my compliments, or maybe it was just because this all was still so new to him. I grinned and softly touched the side of his face in reassurance, and Stiles looked down as he finally pushed into me.

For these few short parts of the day, Stiles and I might as well have been the only two that existed. I could think of nothing and no one else as we connected in the most intimate way possible, as he bared himself to me and filled me completely and totally to the brim with joy and set a fire inside me. He looked up at me suddenly, a vulnerable look in his eye. Like he was still, _somehow_ , worried that he wasn't good enough. So this time, when he pulled back, I looped my arm around his neck and sat up slightly. Stiles was surprised and one of his hands left my waist to brace himself against the bed. The new position allowed us to be closer, so I could look in his face. His eyes fluttered slightly when I locked gazes with him, the clash of the two feelings nearly overwhelming—staring into my eyes as he pushed into me, stretched me in such a thrilling way.

Stiles gasped at the new sensation, at how much more control I had when I wasn't lying back on the bed. We locked eyes and I responded to his gasp, quickly burying my face in his shoulder and clutching him tightly as he began to move at a slow, sure rhythm. With every thrust, I would experimentally change the way I pushed back, trying to find that sweet spot for both of us.

Stiles cried out when I started going a little faster, and I held him tightly and kissed his shoulder, letting out a whimper of my own as each time was too much and not nearly enough. "God," Stiles quietly moaned, his voice thick with need and it might have been the most erotic thing I've ever heard. As we grew more and more desperate, our movements more frenzied, it was harder for us to keep quiet. Little involuntary whimpers would escape our mouths and I gripped Stiles' shoulder and back so tightly I thought I might bruise him.

It was getting difficult to stay upright because my muscles were buckling under the intense stimulation. As if he could sense it in my trembling touch, Stiles settled me back onto the bed and when he pulled back and our eyes met again, I saw nothing but love and determination in his face and I'd had it. I exploded—every cell, every piece of me, shattered for the second time in ten minutes, like I was literally dropped from the top of a mountain while high on some impossibly intoxicating drug. As soon as I started it was like Stiles had just been waiting for me to go first, and we rode it out together until it was too much to for us to move anymore, spent.

Stiles cupped the side of my head, just like how we started, and tucked that same piece of hair behind my ear, looking down at me as though I was fragile as we came apart. He pressed a sweet kiss to my lips and I held the back of his head so he lingered there—in this moment, here, with me.

With a content sigh, Stiles fell back onto the bed next to me. I turned on my side instinctively—this had become somewhat of a familiar routine—and Stiles wrapped his arm around me after he'd disposed of the condom in the little trashcan by his bed. He kissed my shoulder and for a moment neither of us said anything. I ran my fingers across his arm where it curled over me, hugging me to his chest, and I let my mind drift.

Stiles pressed his lips to my ear. "I love you too, if that wasn't clear."

My heart fluttered and I smiled and burrowed closer to him. After a moment, I whispered that it was still nice to hear. He said it again and, teasingly, I pretended I couldn't hear so he had to say it again. I grinned widely, and for a long while, neither of us said anything.

It was enough to hear the sound of his breathing slow from an exhausted, worn out pant, down to a deep relaxed rhythm. I knew he was dozing behind me, could feel his heart beating against my back, and it reassured me in a way that was difficult to put into words.

I just felt… home.

"Stiles?" I asked, and he hummed drowsily. "I just realized that I don't know what your favorite color is. I guess it hasn't come up yet, but… I want to know."

He was grinning and suppressing a laugh; I could feel his stomach muscles clenching and his chest tighten slightly. Voice wispy with sleep, he murmured, "It's the color of your eyes."

"Ugh, cliché," I cringed in disgust. " _No_. It's like, red or something."

Stiles laughed loudly. "Savannah, you can't decide what my favorite color is for me!"

"It's not _brown_ ," I protested, prodding at his hand emphatically. "It can't be."

"It can be because it is. Seriously. It was brown before I knew you, but it's definitely brown now." The way he said it left no room for discussion, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't try to persuade him.

"But red is the color of passion. Or, how about green? Green is for inquisitive minds and stuff."

"Red is the color of blood and green is the color of… okay, green is pretty good."

"Yeah," I said, decidedly. "Green is my favorite."

"Green is nice," Stiles agreed. A beat passed before he said, "But brown is my favorite."

I sighed loudly, and Stiles kissed the back of my head smugly.

* * *

The Sheriff thinks I've been avoiding him. Somehow, he had heard about me skipping the first day of classes. And man, he was _pissed_.

"What do you _mean_ you had somewhere to be?" Sheriff's tone was tight and sarcastic as only he could do, like a tight rubber band that was just waiting to lash against your skin in punishment for your stupidity. Before I could open my mouth, he answered his own question. "Yeah, you had somewhere to be! Beacon Hills High School, Ms. Blake's second period English class."

"But I got a call from Isaac," I told him, shifting uneasily to glance at where Stiles and Scott were waiting for me. Stiles was leaning around the edge of the hall to peek at me like he was about to make a break for it and steal me back to his room with them. I gave him a barely perceptible shake of my head, but for some reason this seemed to egg him on. He started to step out but the Sheriff must have noticed I was looking beyond him because he turned to follow my line of sight.

Stiles ducked back around the corner but I knew he was too late. Sheriff turned back to me, his eyes alight with annoyance. "Focus on _me_. This is a conversation between me and you; my snooping son is not invited."

I was on my own now. Stiles must have finally retreated around the corner, knowing his father's limits well. I looked back at the Sheriff and squared my shoulders. "Melissa McCall called me before I could even get to school. She asked me to come for Isaac."

"Isaac?" Sheriff seemed to find this odd. "Why _you?_ Why not someone else? And why didn't I see you there? _"_

Choosing to put on like his question offended me, I defensively said, "I don't know! He's my _friend!_ I have friends!"

It worked. He tried to pull back, his face masking a deeper fretful regret. "I know that!" Sheriff exclaimed like I was stupid for suggesting otherwise. But by the cagey way he glanced to the side, I knew that he in fact _didn't_ know that. "I know you have friends." Translation: _You hang out with people other than Stiles?_ "I'm just surprised that Melissa would call a minor out of school."

I gave him a shrug. "I was the one he asked for. He was attacked. He was in critical condition. As in, his health was at _critical risk_. You know the laws better than me, Sheriff. Is it alarming to you that Isaac, as an orphan, would ask to see someone like me, in a situation like that?"

I'd put him in a corner. If we were any less acquainted—if he didn't know me as well as he did from the time I'd spent with him in the last four or five months… he might have been ballsy enough to say yes. But he couldn't. "Savannah, you can't start skipping classes again. You finished so strong last year—don't fall back into old habits. It was the first day! The lockers barely even have any graffiti on them yet!"

"But," I pointed out, with my finger literally in the air. "It was the _first day_ … Doesn't that mean that I didn't really miss very much? Doesn't that mean that most teachers would just be taking attendance and handing out their syllabus?"

Sheriff was unimpressed. Giving me a dry stare, he paused before opening his mouth. "Just—get to class soon. I don't know why Scott is here, and I don't care. If you guys aren't out of this house and in that jeep by the time I leave for work, I'll take you to school in the squad car. Okay?"

I was already moving around him to go back to Stiles' room. "You got it!"

"And no more 'critical risks'! Do _you_ got it?" Sheriff leveled his finger at me.

I put my hands out innocently. "I'll do what I can," I told him, unwilling to promise anything given my track record. Sheriff looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't pursue me down the hall when I closed the door to Stiles' bedroom.

Inside, we paused and waited a few seconds to see if Sheriff would barge in the door to continue yelling at us, but he never came. I let out a breath and turned back to them.

"What did he say?" Scott wanted to know.

"Did he ground you?" Stiles asked, strangely jumping to that conclusion. Scott and I exchanged a confused glance, the same thought rolling through our heads in unison.

" _Can_ he do that?" Scott voiced the thought aloud, glancing between us.

Now I looked to Stiles. He shrugged, apparently just as unsure of the answer as I was. "I mean… he hasn't yet."

Scott _hmphed_ thoughtfully as he fell back into Stiles' desk chair. I went to join Stiles on his bed, leaping back to throw my head in his lap. He looked only mildly annoyed, but his hand immediately went to my hair to run through it as Scott spoke. "Did you ever get back to Heather about that party?"

Stiles' hand froze in my hair. I frowned at the unfamiliar name and then quickly became confused because I certainly didn't know a Heather. Then, at Stiles' distinctly guilty expression on his face, I realized that _he_ knew a Heather.

"Heather?" I raised an eyebrow. I pushed Stiles' hand out of my hair and sat up to turn and send a scorching glare to Scott. "Get back to _Heather_ about _what?"_

Scott looked like he'd just stepped in dog poop. He turned an apologetic wince onto Stiles, who was laughing nervously.

"She's no one," Stiles hastily explained, at the same moment that Scott smoothly said Stiles went to preschool with her. "Nothing—" Stiles stuttered at his friend's honesty that he hadn't expected, whipping daggers at him with his eyes. He laughed anxiously again, louder this time. "Nobody! She's nobody. She's just a—a chick." My eyebrows raised. "A girl. A stranger, really. I think she was an ugly girl. With a—like, a missing tooth. I remember she had a missing tooth, right there," He dug a finger into one of his front teeth in an effort to distract from the real issue.

Something on my face must have darkened, because Stiles' laughter became shriller and more broken, his face burning to a cute pink. But _no_ , not cute, because he's being a little douchey right now.

Beyond us, Scott looked like he was watching a train wreck unfold before him. He pressed a hand to his forehead and sank in the chair as Stiles continued and I just watched him struggle, silently.

"Yeah, I mean—I went to nursery school with her," Stiles finally admitted. "She randomly texted me to invite me to her party. Plus one," He quickly threw that last note out, as if it made all the difference.

"Plus one?" I asked, and Stiles nodded almost in relief. "Oh, so why didn't you tell me about it?"

"He told me," Scott unnecessarily pointed out. Stiles looked like he could kill him.

"Scott was your plus one?"

"No!" Stiles scoffed, tugging at the neck of his hoodie. "You're my plus one, obviously! _God_ , it's like, burning up in here. Are you hot?"

I ignored his question, and so did Scott. "Dude, you said there would be hot chicks there! Was I not invited?"

Stiles threw his hands out, growing panicked at this point as he literally jumped off the bed away from me. "Hot chicks for _you!_ For _you_ , Scott, not for me! I don't need a hot chick! I have Savannah!"

"Oh, so I'm not hot?" I asked, secretly enjoying watching him squirm. Scott clapped a hand over his mouth to smother a laugh and Stiles looked like he was about to crumple to the ground in anxiety.

"Scott!" He said, his voice little more than a strained squeak at this point. He was looking at me even though he was speaking to Scott. "I told you so _you_ could go! So you could go forget about Allison!"

Scott seemed confused. "Without you?"

"Yeah dude, _stag._ " Stiles seemed exasperated with him at this point. "I told you; you don't need a wingman!"

He was right about that, but it was clear that Scott disagreed. He frowned at his friend. "But wasn't it last night?"

" _Yes_ ," Stiles finally gushed in relief. Apparently he was just itching to point that out, and now that it was finally said he came to crawl across the bed and grabbed my face between his hands meaningfully. "It was last night, and I was _here_."

My cheeks heated, because I knew exactly what we had done last night. And now I knew why I hadn't heard the first word about Heather. Content, I touched his hand with tiny smirk. "Well why didn't you just say so?"

Stiles' entire face twitched. "Are you trying to kill me, woman?"

I laughed and so did Scott. Gently, I pulled his hands away from my face, but not before planting a quick kiss to his lips. He sighed loudly at me and fell back into the pillows in apparent exhaustion as I turned my attention back to Scott.

"Didn't you come over to show us something?"

Scott's mouth popped open and he shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans. "Yeah! I almost forgot! Here, look at this…"

Stiles and I exchanged a curious glance as Scott rose from the desk chair to bring the screen of his phone closer. "Last night, Allison texted me this picture. She and Lydia met a girl in school who was looking for Isaac, and she was acting crazy. Allison said she looked desperate—and when she grabbed their wrists, she… left something."

"A couple of bruises?" Stiles smartly asked, like he failed to see the point of this.

I pointed down at the screen and traced a shape out across their two wrists. "What is that?" I asked. "Is that a symbol for something?"

Stiles squinted and grabbed the phone to look closer as Scott shook his head at me. "We're not sure. But it probably means something, right?"

"I've never seen it before," I told him, and Stiles let out a surprised hum.

"I see it!" He exclaimed. "It's like an X."

"What is this, some fucked up version of the Goonies?"

Stiles snorted and Scott shook a troubled head. "We're meeting with Derek at the school this morning to show the marks to him. Maybe he'll know more about it."

Dryly, I snorted. "He always does."

"Derek's been running dry on useful information lately," Stiles said with an unexpected measure of venom. Scott didn't know what he meant, but I did. "She tried to ask him about Jack the morning before he turned up at the hospital," He explained, and Scott turned his alarmed gaze to me.

"What!? So you did know?"

" _No_ ," I defensively snapped. Scott frowned deeply in confusion. "I didn't know, I… I thought I was grasping at straws. It was something that someone said to me, and Derek usually knows so much about everything, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it," Scott thoughtfully nodded. Stiles shifted, his arms crossed as he looked significantly less impressed about Derek's plethora of knowledge than we did. "I think I would have done the same thing."

"Yeah, well, he didn't know anything about it," I bitterly dismissed.

"Exactly! So I don't know why we're expecting him to know about a weird shaped bruise left by some crazy, doped up chick that escaped from the hospital."

"It's our best lead," Scott frowned. He shook his head at Stiles. "Do you have any other suggestions?"

"I can think of three right off the top of my head," Stiles put his hand up as if to list them off, but Scott cut him off.

"We're doing this. I know how much you don't like Derek, but if he can just _tell_ us what they mean then it would save us a lot of time." Stiles looked resentful and Scott persisted. "You know I'm right."

Heavily, Stiles sighed. "But it's never that easy, though! Say Derek _does_ know about the bruises. That doesn't mean he'll tell us what he knows! How many times has he blown us off in the past? Has everyone but me forgotten about the kanima last year, or…?"

Scott and I gave him identically dirty looks. "Stiles, you're not the only one here with a brain," Scott told him, and I nodded meaningfully next to him. "I know Derek can be difficult! But you have to admit that he's worth asking."

"I'm just saying that we don't need him," Stiles grumbled. "If he decides that he's going to play his old tricks and pretend he doesn't know anything, then let's not forget that there are other ways to find answers."

"Okay, we got it," I finally interrupted. "Derek is untrustworthy and we can solve all our problems without him."

Stiles looked vaguely offended at my short reply, and I sighed and grabbed his hand as way of apology. "At least give him the _chance_ to prove you right," I teased, and Stiles raised his eyebrows with a ghost a smirk at his lips.

* * *

Okay. If it wasn't clear before, it definitely should be now. I'm a jealous girlfriend. Like, _extremely_ jealous. Possessive, even. Stiles has barely _looked_ at Lydia since we met up to speak with Derek, but it doesn't matter. His being in her general vicinity was enough to grate my nerves to the point that I shifted on my feet uneasily.

Derek sent me a surreptitious strange look, apparently picking up on my apprehension. I clenched my jaw and looked away, signaling him to drop it. His eyes lingered on me even as Scott continued to stress the importance of how the bruises were _mirrored_. They weren't just similar—they were _identical_ in appearance.

"You can see it, right?" He asked Derek.

Derek peeled his eyes away from me to cast his frown down at the bruises, his large arms still crossed. A single dark eyebrow flitted up. "Can I see the bruises?" He looked back at Scott, his voice briefly dropping to a sarcastic whisper. " _Yeah_. I can see them. But I don't exactly see a map or a giant arrow pointing to where Boyd and Erica are."

"Wait, are you saying you _can't_ see that giant flashing arrow?" I smartly gasped, letting my hands fly to my cheeks. Derek seared his dirty look into the side of my face until I dropped the act and returned his glare tenfold. "Can you stop being such an asshole for like, two seconds, and look at the damn shape? It's obviously something."

"Pareidolia," Lydia suddenly interrupted, like she had known this would happen all along and that word explained everything perfectly. When everyone looked at her like she had just spoken Greek to us—which, she _had—_ she realized she needed to elaborate. "Seeing patterns that aren't there… It's a subset of apophenia."

I rolled my eyes and Derek turned to give Scott a wide-eyed, meaningful look, as if to ask him what the hell was wrong with her. "She's _really_ smart," I explained, but not in a kind tone.

Everyone looked somewhat awkward and tense at my passive aggressive dig except for Derek, who looked like he knew exactly how I felt. "Apparently she isn't that smart," Derek unapologetically said. "Because I can't use this."

"What?" Allison exclaimed, dropping her wrist to step forward, outrage clear on her pale face. "You're wrong! This means something! I know it does."

"And what makes you so qualified to make that statement?" Derek challenged, tilting his head at her as if eager to hear her response. "You can shoot a bow and follow orders. That doesn't mean you know how to track and find a couple of missing kids using an _ouchie_."

This was going downhill fast—not that I shouldn't have seen this coming. I should have known Allison and Derek would clash. "Actually, I'm a _hunter_ , Derek. So it sort of _does_ mean I can track and find missing werewolves. It's what we _do.._. Remember?"

"Huh," I smirked, turning an impressed face to Derek because I knew it would grate his nerves and I loved to do that. "She's got you there. Maybe we should listen to—"

"Scott, I know you can do better than this. And you know that I can't use this. We're running out of time, here. So when if you can come up with something more, give me a call. Until then I have to go."

And before any of us could stop him, Derek turned to walk out the door. He ignored Scott's calls, and I think Scott realized it would be useless to grab him and drag him back because we truly had nothing more to add other than the bruise. And he's seen the bruise now, so…

"Well that went well," Stiles sarcastically noted. "Show of hands for who's surprised?" I turned to him with a heavy sigh at the same time Scott and Allison did. Lydia seemed to think it over very briefly before she went to retrieve her designer handbag.

"I'm dying of thirst, and I'm out of tea." Lydia told us. "This was unproductive. Come on, Allison."

Allison had been locked in some sort of weird eye-conversation with Scott that none of the rest of us were privy to. Almost as soon as it had started, it was over, and Allison turned away like nothing had ever happened. She quickly joined Lydia's side and the two girls left the classroom without a backwards glance, chatting about how Lydia should go about covering her ugly bruise for the rest of the day.

"I sort of love that we all have Economy together," Stiles told Scott and I. He got up from the desk he'd been sitting on to come join my side. "Do you think they knew what they were doing when they scheduled that?"

"We have English together too," Scott reminded him, and Stiles sighed happily as he threw an arm over my shoulder.

"Yeahh…" He said, as if he was trying to imagine it. "I have a feeling our teacher will already hate you, Savannah," Stiles suddenly noted. "She seemed pretty uptight and you skipped her first class already. That's not exactly a strong start."

Scott, always the more optimistic of the bunch of us, said, "Well maybe she'll let you off with a warning like she did for me. We both had the same excuse, and it's a good excuse."

"Hospital trumps English class," Stiles agreed with a nod.

Scott seemed to realize I had yet to interject at the same moment that Stiles did.

Stiles arm tightened on my shoulder, bringing me out of my thoughts. "Huh?" I shook my head.

Scott had already stopped walking so he could look at me in concern. "What's wrong?" Stiles asked me.

"I was just…" I frowned down at my shoes. "Something that Lydia said."

"Oh, that apophenia thing? You get used to that." Stiles waved me off.

Annoyed at how he continued to talk so familiarly about her, I curled my lip and curtly shook my head. " _No_. Not that. She just mentioned tea and it made me think of Brooke…"

Scott's eyes were wide and he drew in a startled breath. "Brooke! Yeah, where has she been?" He frowned at Stiles in question but I knew he would be just as lost as I was.

They both looked to me. I thought of how she was moving, but I knew that wouldn't be reason enough for her to not be in school today. "I don't know. She's never missed a day before, right? At least, not while I've known her."

"Come to think of it, I didn't notice her on Friday, either," Scott suddenly noted. Dread chilled me from the inside out. My heart rate went wild and sweat prickled on my clammy palms and under my arms. Alarm was growing between us and we tried desperately to rationalize it—to hold off any unnecessary panic.

"How about your phone?" Stiles asked me, giving my shoulder a helpful nudge. "Has she called it?"

I immediately shrugged my leather backpack off to paw through its contents until I hit the thick plastic phone in the bottom. Wrapping my fingers around it, I yanked it up through the empty folders and new notebooks inside.

"There's one missed call…" I realized. "From Friday morning."

We all looked at each other with shocked, oddly calm expressions. Okay. Time to panic.

"I guess you'll be missing class again," Scott noted, and Stiles dropped his limp arm from my shoulder with a loud sigh.

"Yeah," He said, scratching at the back of his head as he looked at us. "Me too. We should go to my dad together."

"Why together?" I asked, and Stiles raised an eyebrow at me.

"Strength in unity."

Scott snorted but I couldn't find it in myself to feel any amusement. Only deep, deep worry, and shame. She had just said to me the other day that I wouldn't notice if she went missing. I was so sure she was wrong. How had I not noticed? How had I yet to hear of it?

Finally finding my voice, I said, "If anything happens to her, she's gonna _kill_ me."

"Look, she's probably fine," Stiles reassured me, even though we all knew it was a lie he said to comfort me. "She's probably…" There was a long, quiet pause as Stiles racked his brain for any logical reason to explain Brooke's sudden disappearance. "...fine," He finished, lamely.

"Guys, just go," Scott urged. "I'll tell Finstock there was an emergency."

We turned to hurry down the hall, my fingers finding their way to the pendent of the necklace she'd gifted me with for the first time in months. St. Anthony, patron of the lost. How fitting.

* * *

 ** _So yeah, this was a bit of a filler. I wanted to change how it went in the show and I knew I didn't want Stiles and Scott to go to that party... for obvious reasons. xD But I liked that there was a theme of sex and virginity in this episode, and obviously virginity comes into play in later sooo I stuck with that. It was fun, right? Lol. Not sure how often scenes like that will come up but... we'll see how you guys feel about it._**

 ** _Heather still exists. She'll still go missing. She'll still be a sacrifice. Let's just assume that her ahem, 'target of opportunity' was someone else for that night since Stiles didn't show to her party._**

 ** _And now we will focus on Brooke! Will we see Jack again in the process? WHAT'S COMING NEXT, OOooooo :D_**


	67. Hit A Wall

**_This is a really long one, guys XD but I wanted to get through this episode! I have so many twists planned, I'm excited to keep busting through these plot lines. I love when I get to the intense part of a story..._**

 ** _Thank you for all the reviews/favorites/follows! If you're new, welcome! If you're not, welcome back! And either way I hope you enjoy..._**

* * *

Yeah I hit a wall, I prayed that I would make it through, make it through  
I can't survive a life that's without you, that's without you, yeah  
And I will rise up from the ashes now, the ashes now  
Oh, the sparrow flies with just the crumbs of loving spilled, yeah

 _\- Sledgehammer, by Rihanna_

* * *

The station was apparently already aware of Brooke's disappearance. How do I know that? Because Brooke's mom is currently in Sheriff's office, visibly distressed as she barked at the Sheriff while Brooke's dad hung back in one of the chairs.

I was obviously eves dropping and peering through the blinds when I could. The only reason I was able to observe any of it was because I was a werewolf; otherwise I would just see the occasional movement from inside and hear a broken fragment of a sentence from her raised voice every now and then.

I know that her mom is already planning to go to the media. She wants Brooke's face everywhere—on the evening news, shared all across every page of Facebook possible, alerts playing through radio stations. She has been in touch with her publicist's team and they're working on putting something together as they spoke. Sheriff was desperately warning her that it would be a mistake to do all of that. He wouldn't give her a clear answer _why_ , though.

Stiles asked the officer manning the front desk to speak with his dad. We were informed that he was in an important meeting, and no, he didn't know how long it would last, but yes, we were welcome to wait until it was through.

"Shouldn't they be _out_ there, searching?" I asked, for about the fourth time. I was pacing in front of Stiles, my hands clenching in and out of fists as I continued to listen in on their conversation from out here. "They're talking about what to put in the media and Brooke is out there somewhere? I mean, isn't this a giant waste of time? Aren't they just putting her more at risk?"

"Well, assuming she's been missing since Friday it's already been more than forty-eight hours," Stiles informed me as he tried to peer into his father's office and see what I saw. "After the first forty-eight hours the likelihood of finding a missing person diminishes." He paused to consider something. "Actually, it's been closer to seventy-two hours. After seventy-two hours, the chances of finding them alive are… not good."

When he noticed my extended silence, he looked to me where I had stopped dead in my tracks. He flinched at the scorching glare I gave him and lurched forward in his seat.

"But not for her! No, Brooke is probably—fine…"

" _Stiles_ , I swear to all that is holy, if you say that _one_ more time—"

Sheriff's office door opened. He held it and gestured for Brooke's parents to go through, and I immediately started toward them. The officer behind the desk watched me go with a nervous expression, like he wanted to stop me but didn't know if he should.

Brooke's mom caught sight of me and her already cool gaze turned to clear icy hatred. "You," She accused, her voice full of righteous condemnation. " _You're_ the one she's been slinking around with! You know where she is, don't you?"

"Whoa!" Stiles stepped up beside me to address Brooke's mom. "Hang on a minute. We're here to _help!"_

"Okay, let's everyone take a beat—" Sheriff tried a calming gesture with his hands but Brooke's mom spoke over him.

 _"Help?"_ She literally threw her head back and laughed like this was some corny black and white film. "Hah! You two can't help! Unless you had something to do with it! What did you do? What did you do to our daughter, you little—"

"Alright," Sheriff sharply cut in and actually stepped between us to block the belligerent woman from coming any closer to me. He had one hand at his hip and his other in front of him as if to push her back. "That's enough. We don't have time for this. Your daughter is missing, and her friend came here on her own to help find her… Are you really going to say no to that?"

The woman, with her usually pristine hair fallen in loose dark colored curls around her face, looked ready to say yes. Her husband stepped forward before that could happen. "Of course not," He said, his eyes on me. He remembered me—I knew he did, I could tell by the look in his eyes. He had that same look on his face that he wore the night that Brooke was in the hospital after getting drunk at the gala they threw and breaking her nose. Actually—after _I_ broke her nose.

I had almost forgotten about that night, and seeing him here in front of me brought all those memories rushing back and I wasn't sure how I felt about it. Unconsciously, I moved a step closer to Stiles because of the unfamiliar emotion singing in my chest that had more to do with Brooke than with her father. Stiles noticed and took a step towards me, and even though I wasn't sure what the longing mournful pull at my heart was called, I knew that he didn't need to protect me from her father. Still, I let him.

As I was processing all of this, I knew I was uncharacteristically quiet while the woman turned her sights to aim a barbed question at the Sheriff. "You mean to say that you failed to _call_ this girl? She's Brooke's _only_ friend, and you're telling me you couldn't be bothered to find her?"

Sheriff balked at the implied accusation lacing those questions. "Ma'am, we are working as quickly as we can. Given that we were just informed of what's going on this morning—"

"Wait, _what?_ You didn't contact the police until this morning?" I finally broke my silence and gaped at the neglectful parents behind Sheriff. Brooke's father had the decency to look at least somewhat uncomfortable, but his wife took a more assertive response.

"We came as soon as it was brought to our attention," She answered. It sounded strangely rehearsed—and slightly detached, as though she was a politician answering a question about road construction deadlines and not her missing _child_.

"You didn't notice that your daughter was gone until three days after the fact?" Stiles boldly asked with disgust, like the parents should be ashamed. And I think they were—as much as they were able to be, or at least as much as they were willing to let on.

Sheriff unexpectedly turned to us at this last question. "Three days? How do you know it's been three days?"

Stiles and I exchanged a glance. "Well, the last time I heard from her was a missed call on Friday."

"Why didn't you _answer?"_ Brooke's mom boiled with fuming disbelief.

"I was at the hospital," I told her, my jaw set to mask the wave of guilt that rolled through me. Her mother blinked suspiciously at the news. "Our friend Isaac had been injured. I… I guess I missed the call."

 _Also, I discovered that my brother was alive, and got attacked by a woman that I'm fairly certain is the mother of my nephew_. So… I was distracted, to say the least.

"Well, that's just great," Her mom threw her hands up and turned away dramatically—looking _just_ like Brooke in that moment. "Did she at least leave a message?"

She asked it like no matter what I said I was to blame for the answer. Like none of us, _especially_ her daughter, could do anything right, and we were all incompetent assholes. Still, I was wracked with guilt. Not because of anything this woman said, but because I felt like I had failed Brooke. And as much as it pains me to admit, she's right. I should have answered. "No. There was no message." I put my head down as Sheriff began to try and take control of the conversation again.

"What time did she call?"

Stiles answered for me. "It was close to nine o'clock," He said. "Right after classes had started."

Her mom sighed loudly, visibly effected at hearing such a concrete timeline for when her daughter's last known activities occurred. " _Just_ … typical!" She put a hand into her hair and shook her head. "She's so reckless. I've always told her—how many times have I told her? _Use_ the _brain_ that God gave you!"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I think everyone but her husband was stunned—Stiles and I being the worst at hiding it. Was she really… _blaming_ Brooke?

She didn't even seem to realize how it sounded while her husband awkwardly tried to smooth it over in embarrassment. "What do we do now, Sheriff?"

Reluctantly, the Sheriff tore his troubled gaze away from the still seething woman. "Now I have to update the officers who are out searching with what I've learned. The search will obviously continue, and I'll start tracking down the people I know she's likely to have been in contact with before she disappeared."

It felt so surreal to me. I had done this all before, with Jack, and now, at the same moment that he turns up after so many years, I'm doing it all over again. In fact, I think I heard that exact speech from Sheriff while I was in the hospital. He'd told me all of that even though I hadn't asked, and it was a lot more awkward then because I knew he wouldn't find Jack.

Sheriff must have known what I was thinking... how I was feeling. He was looking at me while Brooke's parents started rattling off names of people they think she might have called or gone to. Stepping around her parents, Sheriff waved at the officer behind the desk.

"Take their statements, would you? Find the numbers, addresses, and places of employment for anyone they tell you. Get Gomez, and then do what you can to get into contact with all of them. See if they can tell us anything."

Stiles and I were sort of in shock, I think. We stood beside each other with our arms hanging uselessly at our sides, watching everyone move around us in a daze. Sheriff came back towards us after the officer ushered her parents to what looked like a break room off to the side. We still stood pretty much smack in the middle of the station.

"Dad—" Stiles began, and Sheriff looked away from me. "What do you think happened? I mean, where was she last seen?"

Sheriff had a hesitant expression. "Her car was found pushed off in a dead-end alley just off of Broadway."

"Broadway?" I asked, my head spinning. Broadway was one of the busiest streets in Beacon Hills. I didn't think Brooke was dumb enough to hitch a ride, but… she was also extremely trusting. If anyone had stopped to offer their help, she may have just taken them up on it. Still, how did the car get _there?_

Stiles and Sheriff were thinking the same thing.

"It's not good," Sheriff admitted. "Anything could have happened. She could have hitched a ride—she could have tried walking the rest of the way to school, or going to a car shop, or a gas station. Or basically anywhere. A business, a restaurant she likes to go to." He paused and glanced between us. Then, as compassionately as he could manage, he said, "It looks like she might have been taken."

It was too much. I felt nothing but a sickening, heavy weight of responsibility sink on my chest with every word. It was my fault for not answering. It was my fault for not noticing sooner. It's my fault for not paying more attention, for not knowing her well enough to know what she would do in such a situation, but knowing her well enough to know that she could have done _any_ and all of the things he just named.

Brooke is smart. Is she smart enough to know how to fix a car on her own? I don't know. I don't know, I don't know, I don't _know._

"I can't _stand_ this!" I suddenly declared, twisting my fingers into my hair as I started to pace again. "I have to do something."

"I can't talk long…" Sheriff looked like there was more he wanted to tell us. I stopped pacing to listen. "Savannah, are you okay?"

I knew why he asked. It was Jack, again. My past. Always my past. My jaw clenched. " _No_ , I'm not _okay_ ," I said, my voice dripping with disdain. Stiles seemed like he couldn't blame me for how I felt, reaching up to scratch his forehead as Sheriff listened. Sheriff looked down at me with his eyebrows slightly creased, his telltale mark of stress. He even looked pained, like there was a certain hint of guilt hidden under all that pressure. "How does this keep happening?" I wondered aloud with a bitter laugh. "How is it that the people I care about always disappear?"

Sheriff suddenly glanced over his shoulder. He almost looked paranoid when I said that, like it's something he didn't want anyone else to hear, like it was… incriminating, or something.

And I realized that at this point everyone was a suspect. But I knew I had an alibi—a pretty good one, too, since I'm sure if Melissa, Scott, and Derek's word wouldn't be enough, the cameras at the hospital would prove that I had been there when Brooke was last seen.

And anyways, Sheriff didn't actually comment on that. "There's more…" He told us, leaning in to lower his voice as he guided us around the corner of a secluded hallway and out of the general public's view. "I didn't want to say this in front of Brooke's parents. They're already threatening legal actions—"

"For _what?"_ Stiles wanted to know. Sheriff shook his head dismissively.

"Another girl is missing."

The floor dropped from under me. Or, it might as well have. I felt like I'd been struck with a sack of rocks to my stomach. Stiles' hand found mine—or maybe mine found his—I don't know, but we were both stunned into silence as we tried to digest this news.

"… _Two_ girls?" Stiles said. "Who's the other one?"

Sheriff's face was grave as he looked at his son. "Heather."

I think Stiles and I made the same connection at the same time, because when I looked at him he looked… it was hard to put into words. Heather was the girl who threw the party and invited Stiles. That makes _four_ teenagers from Beacon Hills to go missing—three of which were girls. And all of them had a connection that linked them together… us.

"She was last seen at her birthday party this weekend," Sheriff said. He paused. "Saturday night."

Brooke disappeared Friday morning. The next night, Heather disappeared.

It's pretty suspicious, and I knew Stiles had the same realization. "So… this is like… _bad_ ," I clarified, and Sheriff looked troubled as he examined both of us.

"Do you know something?" He asked us, surprising me. "Anything? Anything at all. I need to know _now_ , if you do."

What we know he can't know. We know that there's an alpha pack in town, and that my brother was alive.

Eventually Stiles shook his head. "No," He told his dad. "Nothing that would help."

Sheriff looked frustrated. "I have to know _everything_. Even if it doesn't seem important, it could help."

"We don't know anything," I persisted, my jaw set. Sheriff sighed loudly, apparently not buying it. "Seriously. You know more than we know! Brooke went missing Friday morning after her car broke down on Broadway. She called me, I missed it. Heather… apparently disappeared from her party that neither of us even attended."

Sheriff paused, mulling over things in his head that he didn't say aloud. Stiles and I looked at each other worriedly. "We aren't suspects, right?" Stiles finally asked.

Sheriff was quick to answer. "No. You… It doesn't fit. You both have alibis; there's no way either of you took anyone. And why would you, anyways? It doesn't fit," He said, again.

"So can we start looking for Brooke?" I was eager to get out of here and head over to Broadway. "I want to help."

"I know you do," Sheriff said. "But you're still teenagers first." It was like this fact weighed heavily on him—like he had been thinking of it a lot recently. "Both of you have to get to school."

"What?" I thought I might explode. Even Stiles was outraged.

"Can't you call us in?" Stiles exclaimed. "This is way more important!"

"Kids, there is nothing either of you can do at this point," Sheriff told us, and I threw frustrated fists into the air.

"That's not true!" I cried. "Fuck class. I can _help_. Let me help find Brooke!"

If this was any other time, Sheriff would chide me for using that curse word, I knew. But he simply shook his head. "If we haven't found her by the time classes are out, and I think we might, then you can come help search for a little bit. But I'm not going to let you miss another first day of school, Savannah!"

"Well that sucks, because I'm not going back," I told him, my jaw set. Stiles shifted uneasily at my blatant disobedience.

Sheriff wasn't even fazed. "You _will_ , if I have to escort the two of you myself."

"Whoa, that's—" Stiles interrupted with a breathy laugh as he grabbed at my arm. "Nope, that's not necessary. Savannah…"

I yanked my arm out of his grasp and laughed desperately in their faces, slightly manic. "No! I'm not going to just _sit_ there and listen to a bunch of assholes tell me that we have to ask to use the bathroom and they don't accept _late_ _work_ while my best friend could be hurt somewhere!"

Sheriff sighed and I knew that he was beginning to see I was going to make it impossible for him to take me to that school. I would bolt the moment that he left me, anyways, and it's not like he could baby sit me all day while two kids are out missing. What's he gonna do? He can't make me _do_ anything.

* * *

He made me do it. He made me come to school. I held my desk in a death grip and ignored the students that gave me a wide berth once they saw my mood. An officer stood near the door, his bored expression only serving to fan the flames of my anger. I glared at him and didn't take my eyes away from his listless face.

Whatever the teacher was saying, I wasn't getting any of it. Scott sat behind me, next to Stiles, and they spoke in low voices.

"I can't believe your dad is making him escort her to classes," Scott whispered.

Stiles sighed. "He's wasting resources if you ask me. Both Savannah and that officer would be better off searching, not… crammed in some class, listening to a lecture about… what is this even about?"

"Uh, peninsulas I think?" Scott guessed with a shrug. Stiles looked even more confused and they paused and looked up to me. "…She's not going to attack him, right?" Scott murmured.

"No," Stiles said uncertainly. It was obvious that he didn't know if he believed himself either, looking at the way I was ready to pounce over the desk and strangle the officer with my bare hands. "Probably not. She's just… agitated."

If I wasn't so angry, I would have snorted. Lydia did it for me. I whipped around to glare at her and she raised her eyebrows at me. Truthfully, I was itching for a confrontation, for someone to give me an excuse to vent my frustrations—and who better than Lydia Martin?

"Can you please stop _huffing_ at him?" Lydia asked, her voice bitter. "You're distracting me."

I redirected my huffing to her.

Lydia's grip on her pen tightened. "That's worse," She told me, and before anyone could intervene the teacher spoke up.

"Girls?" He said, a tired expression on his face. "Something you'd like to share with the class?"

Neither of us responded. Lydia just looked like a discontent queen, and I felt the claws on my nails dig into the wood beneath the desk. There was an audible pop when one of my dark claws actually cracked into the desk, and the teacher stepped back in surprise when it literally came apart in my hands.

The whole class was hushed. For a moment we all gaped at the desk, dumbfound. Loudly, Stiles cleared his throat and snapped everyone out of their shock. Anger long forgotten, I broke my gaze away from the two large pieces of desktop in my hands and held them up to the teacher. "Uh…" I lamely said, and the teacher blinked for another second, his mind visibly racing as he tried to justify what just happened.

I knew he couldn't believe that I'd done it. He turned to look at the cop like he expected him to either handle the situation or to enlighten the class what caused it. The cop just stared back at him with his eyebrows raised, offering no explanation or assistance. Another moment passed and the teacher, annoyed, gestured at the cop. "What are you even here for?"

A few students snickered behind their hands and the cop straightened slightly in some form of intimidation. "I'm…" He trailed off, and I realized that perhaps Sheriff couldn't give the cop a good reason for following me beyond _because I said so_. I then wondered what the cop had done to piss Sheriff off. "I'm monitoring."

The teacher just stared at him without moving. "…You're monitoring."

The cop raised his chin, but said nothing.

With a heavy sigh, the teacher turned away and put his hands out like he couldn't be bothered to argue. "Well, could you _monitor_ that student all the way down to the…" He shook his head, at a loss. "I don't know, _shop class_ , or something? Whoever can fix the stupid desk, _please_."

Wow. I expected a little more recourse, I'll be honest. Detention, at least. But I guess the teacher really couldn't bring himself to blame the desk's destruction on me—that would imply that I was capable of an impossible amount of strength, and after all, I'm just a weak teenaged girl in the teacher's eyes.

While the teacher stomped and muttered his way back to his desk, I looked back at Stiles with wide eyes, the two halves of the desk still heavy in my hands. He shrugged frantically back at me. Scott's mouth unhelpfully popped open and closed—and to my great surprise, it was Lydia who finally stood up.

"The _supply_ closet," She declared with an exasperated sigh. Sometimes I think she just enjoys being smarter than everyone else. "In the boiler room? Near the locker rooms? _That's_ where they keep the extra desks and filing cabinets." Everyone in the class swiveled around to stare at her, and she rolled her eyes dramatically. "Honestly…"

And then she flitted her hand impatiently at me, gesturing for me to stand.

Hesitantly, slowly, I rose from my chair. As soon as I was standing up the whole desk toppled forward, no longer balanced without the desktop attached.

"Uh—" Stiles looked almost as freaked out as I did when I traipsed after Lydia. The entire class watched us leave. Me, with the broken desk in my hands; Lydia, with her designer purse slung over her arm and the toe of her nude stiletto tapping by the door impatiently; and the policeman, with his little radio buzzing out a tin voice, waiting for me before he followed behind us.

We walked without speaking. The halls were empty besides the occasional student passing by on their way to their lockers or restrooms. The only sound made between the three of us came from our shoes. Lydia's heels clicking daintily across the floor, my boots mutely thudding, and the cop's shoes steadily rapping. We made quite the team.

I didn't attempt to make conversation, and neither did Lydia. She kept her nose slightly in the air and her eyes on me as little as possible. So, it seemed that the aversion I felt for her was shared.

I wondered if it had anything to do with my strange history with Jackson. Hopefully not; if so, she can hold a mean grudge. Then again so can I… obviously.

Lydia stopped at the bottom of the ramp leading down from the hall, cocking her hip in front of the door. She turned to look expectantly at the cop. The cop hesitated, his hands going uselessly to his hips as he glanced at me in silent question. I merely raised an eyebrow at him. He scoffed at my pissy expression and turned to Lydia. "What?"

"It's locked," She told him, like he was stupid.

"You couldn't have said anything before we got all the way down here?" The cop gestured at the door and then down the hall. "Go to the office and get a key!"

"They won't just hand over a key to a student," Lydia said as she rolled her eyes and I wondered if she got a headache from all that eye-rolling. Surely there has to be some sort of side effect. Maybe smudged mascara; I wasn't sure. "But a cop, on the other hand…"

He shook his head and gestured to indicate me. "I go, she goes."

"Or how about we just dump this here and call it a day?" I said to the cop, going to do just that. Lydia started to protest but I ignored her. "You and I would both rather be out there searching, so let's say we leave a note and, uh…" I turned back to shrug at the cop. "Go do some civic good? Or in your case… your job."

Lydia couldn't keep quiet anymore. "OH, come on!" She loudly laughed, waving her hand at me to the officer. "You can't seriously be buying that? Are you _trying_ to get fired?"

The officer sighed loudly. "What do we even need to get a new desk for? Why can't you just take an empty one in class?"

"Were you even paying attention?" Lydia snapped. "That class was wall to wall full. Mr. Johnson is the AP calculus teacher, but since Beacon Hills is severely understaffed, he's also stuck teaching Earth Science." At our blank stares, something I'm coming to realize she has to be fed up with by now, Lydia snapped at us. "He's way overqualified in the wrong field! And I'm missing important notes, so whatever you decide to do, hurry up and do it _now_ for God's sake."

I held my arm out to the cop, my silent way of inviting him to go get the key. He just looked dryly back at me. Smartly, I shook my head at him. "Officer Jefferson," I read his name from the little metal tag. "Come on. Where's the trust?"

Lydia scoffed loudly at that and when I shot her a dirty look she shrugged unapologetically, looking me over in contempt.

"You two," The cop said, reaching to grab something on his belt. "Get over here."

He walked over to the ramp and stopped right in front of the wall. Lydia and I exchanged a perplexed look when Jefferson pointed straight down at a spot on the ground and indicated us to go stand there.

Lydia was the first to obey. Hesitantly, she took slow steps over to where he pointed. I followed after her like I was being led to a firing squad, and honestly, that's almost what it felt like. Especially when Lydia and I stood against the wall and the officer stepped in front of us and reached for his belt.

We stood shoulder to shoulder, our hands balled tensely at our sides as we waited for him to finally explain what the hell was going on. Then he stepped closer to us, and I realized he was actually handcuffing us to the rail.

Lydia cried out in indignation.

 _"Seriously?"_ I whined, but the cop ignored us as he shook his head and stepped away.

"This way I know you'll be here when I get back." He started muttering under his breath as he turned up the ramp to go back the way we came, but a thought must have occurred to him and he stopped to point at us. "You _better_ still be here when I come back."

"You're carrying the desk," I suddenly informed him, and he didn't acknowledge me as he turned to finally leave.

I looked back at Lydia, who was giving me a disbelieving look. "What?" I asked, defensive. "I'm not carrying it. And there's no way you're gonna risk chipping a nail."

She looked ready to claw my eyes out with those very nails, but she tightened her jaw and kept her mouth shut. For a moment. Then, she lamented, "I can't _believe_ I'm stuck here with you."

"Yeah, it's a real treat for me too. Who needs Disneyworld?" I muttered, and she sighed sharply and muttered something back under her breath. "You know you might be the most annoying person I know."

"Do I need to remind you _who_ got _who_ out of trouble in that class?" Lydia scathingly asked.

"Trouble?" I puffed. "I wasn't in trouble."

Lydia turned at me pointedly. "That cop is not here to _monitor_." My eyes narrowed and jaw clenched as she knowingly continued. "He's here to _babysit._ You. For whatever reason; it's not my problem—my problem is that I offered my help, and somehow I still ended up handcuffed to a frigging railing!"

"What do you want me to do about it?" I finally snapped. I already didn't like Lydia, so being stuck in this situation felt less than ideal.

"Repay the favor," She told me. My head reared back in mocking surprise.

"Favor?" I sneered. "I don't recall asking you any favors!"

"Yes," Lydia hissed. "That's why it is a _favor_. It's called being courteous." She looked me over. "You should try it sometime. Like, _now_ , for instance."

"Courteous," I snorted to myself and shook my head. "Now I know you're joking. When have you ever been courteous to me?"

" _Savannah_ —" Lydia finally snapped, apparently exasperated at my incessant mocking. "Do you want to be handcuffed to me?"

I looked down at her. "No," I easily replied.

"Great! So why don't you do something about it so we can get this over with and return to our separate corners," She suggested, tilting her head at me and pursing her painted lips. "Hm? Does that sound satisfactory?"

"Yes," I continued to mock. "It _pleases_ your majesty."

Lydia looked like she wanted to snort, but that would admit that she found me amusing, so she settled for gritting her teeth and rolling her eyes.

I looked down at the cuffs and chewed my lip. Was it really worth it to break the cuffs?

"Hurry _up_." Lydia shifted impatiently in her heels, and without any further hesitation I snapped the cuffs off with my eyes glued to the side of her face the entire time, imagining it was her jaw instead of the metal cuffs.

Even though Lydia had been the one yipping at me to break the cuffs, she still looked surprised. Her eyes were wide saucers, gawping at the new little bracelet she had wrapped snugly around her wrist. A delicate piece of the chain dangled noisily as she held it aloft to look it over.

Lydia wasn't paying any attention to me as she scoffed an incredulous snort at the handcuff. She jumped in surprise when I placed a hand against the back of her head, quickly ducking out of my reach with a loud yelp.

"What the hell!" She exclaimed, her hand up as if to physically hold me back should I try to touch her again.

I held out a bobby pin and raised an eyebrow. "Thanks," I flatly said, and shoved around her horrified expression while she self-consciously patted her hair. She watched me while I knelt in front of the large metal doors and stuck the bent bobby pin into the keyhole.

"What are you doing?" She asked me.

"I'm picking the lock."

"Get up!" Lydia exclaimed, stepping forward with the intent to push me out of the way herself if she had to.

I slid a step back, not rising out of my crouched position to glare up at her. "And what, pray tell, do you plan to do? _Sneer_ it open? Speak friend and enter?"

And I was stunned into silence when she testily reached forward to turn the handle and push the door open. My mouth fell open as she stepped inside and reached over to flip a light on.

"Wait a minute—" I started, but Lydia interrupted.

"You grab a desk," She told me, not even looking in my direction as she stepped around the desks and moved deeper into the dank, cool room.

"Why did you tell him it was locked?" I gestured out the open door and then indicated the room. "What, are you trying to steal something or something?" At the thought, I let out a hearty laugh.

Lydia's non-responsive silence made my grin fall to flatly the floor. She didn't even turn around as she began searching the room—opening filing cabinets, looking under them, behind them. I curiously stepped toward her. She ignored me and thumbed through a drawer of files. Finally, she seemed to find what she was looking for.

Lydia took a thin stack of papers out and opened her purse to get her phone out and take pictures of a couple pages. She quickly shoved them back into the cabinet after she finished. When she went to stand she realized I was watching her the whole time, my mouth agape.

She glanced away briefly. "What?"

I pointed at her bag and she cut me off.

"The _desk_ , Savannah. Focus! Get one of the desks before he comes back!"

I realized that I had no right to ask Lydia what she took. It was obvious that she didn't intend to tell me; in fact, she pretended that nothing had even happened while she went and tapped a fingernail over a desk.

"This one," She said. "Take this one."

I kept my confused, unsure gaze on her as I went to pick up the desk. The legs squeaked lightly as I hauled it into my arms. She led the way to the doors and propped them open for me.

I was just stepping outside when the officer came around the corner of the ramp. He froze upon finding the spot he left us in empty. Jefferson's hands flew to his radio in a blind panic until he turned his gaze and caught sight of us at the open doors.

He cursed under his breath and hurried down the ramp as Lydia closed the doors behind us. "What are you doing?" He thundered. "How did—what did you—"

I looked to Lydia to explain, since apparently she's got all the answers—and she smoothly said, "Nail file," And held her hand up with the handcuff still attached.

His shoulders dropped. Jefferson put a hand to his forehead and cursed. "Seriously? You guys destroyed my cuffs! That's gonna come out of _my_ paycheck!"

I shrugged brazenly and Lydia raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. Before he could say anything else, I heard footsteps coming down the hall and peered behind him.

He caught my shift of focus and turned around just in time to see Sheriff Stilinski starting down the ramp with two officers at his side.

"Sheriff!" Jefferson nervously laughed, not so brave when his boss was about to catch him slacking on the job. "Wha—uhh… what are you doing here?"

Sheriff's gaze was unimpressed as he looked at his officer. He walked straight past and stopped with his back to him, his gaze focused on me while two officers joined Jefferson. His expression was grave and he didn't even acknowledge the desk in my hands, or the cuff on my wrist, or the fact that I was with Lydia outside the supply closet and _not_ in class.

I dropped the desk at the same moment my heart dropped and my blood chilled in panic. Before I could ask, Sheriff said, "Lydia, go back to class. Savannah. Let's go."

I was extremely confused when one of the officers stepped forward as if prepared to escort me if I didn't come willingly. "What's going on?" I asked, throwing a glance at Lydia. She looked troubled but somehow unsurprised when the cops shepherded me to them. "Is it Brooke? Did you find her? Is she hurt?"

Jefferson watched, apparently just as lost as I was, while his fellow officers waved him to follow along and walk up the ramp behind the Sheriff and me.

"It's your brother," Sheriff explained. "There's… been a development."

My mouth closed and I drew my shoulders back neutrally, my face going blank. The Sheriff looked even more troubled when he saw my face wash over and stared for another second before he turned away.

* * *

"Ordinarily I would wait to contact a family until I have concrete evidence. Something tangible to show them, proof that it's true." Sheriff was watching my reaction closely. We sat in his office, alone.

The door was shut, and the blinds pulled closed. He wanted to give me as much privacy as possible. I even had a cup of steaming coffee—black, lots of sugar. Just how I like it. He's really trying to make me comfortable. He's really trying.

"But I, um…" He trailed off and frowned down at his desk in thought. Then he cleared his throat and looked back up at me with a nod. "I just thought you could use some good news."

I rolled the cup between my hands. "So… you think my brother is alive?"

He was hesitant to agree. "He was spotted on security footage at a local gas station. While my officers were out searching for Brooke, they asked to see the footage at the gas station off Broadway and they caught sight of a man: five-foot-ten, well-built with dark hair and light eyes, and wearing a… wearing a jean jacket."

Softly, I snorted and gave a weak nod. "That sounds about right." And then I paused and something occurred to me. "Five-foot-ten? Really? He must have grown some…"

Sheriff looked deeply concerned as he frowned at me in pity. "Now—to be clear, nothing is concrete."

"Yeah, you said that," I muttered. He paused and took a breath before nodding.

"I just don't want you getting your hopes up if this whole thing turns out to be a mistake."

I looked at him with a sober gaze. "Did you see the tape?"

Sheriff hesitated. "…Yeah. I saw it."

My raised eyebrow was my silent question to him. The corner of his mouth twitched, but not into a smile.

"It looked like him."

I peered down into my cup of coffee. "It was him."

"We'll find him," Sheriff suddenly promised. "If he's in town he's going to turn up soon. He's going to want to see you."

I couldn't hold back a snort and the Sheriff looked disturbed at how I was being so calm and nonchalant. But he doesn't realize that we've already had our family reunion, and well… let's say it didn't go so hot.

"Three years… two months… and six days. That's how long it's taken him to bother to come back around. That's a lot of time to…" I trailed off, unsure of what to even call it. Eventually I decided there were was nothing I could say to describe it, to put my emotions into words for the Sheriff, and I felt too tired to even try. So I just let it trail off and die.

"I want you to start going back to Ms. Morrell," He told me. I blinked in surprise because I had honestly forgotten all about those meetings. "The school year has started back up, and a lot of things are happening in your life right now. It's important to process these things. You can't bottle them up like you used to."

And didn't someone else who shares DNA with him say that same thing to me mere days ago? "You Stilinskis," I laughed and shook my head. "You're all about processing emotions and…"

To my horror, I felt my throat tighten and my eyes grow hot. Honestly, I felt unworthy of their generosity. It was one of my greatest insecurities, and somehow sprinkling that emotion into all the other ones toiling just under the surface felt like stacking too many straws on the camel's back, and I knew I was on the verge of breaking. I gnashed my teeth together and stared hard at the coffee in my hands, willing myself to get a fucking grip. Sheriff's voice was gentle and twinged with amusement when he said, "Savannah, the Stilinskis are _masters_ at bottling emotions. Ever since Claudia died, I…" He shook his head. "I focus on the job. It's easier to deal with other people's problems because then you don't have to face your own, and I know Stiles does the same. And we're telling you to talk to someone about it because we know how horrible it feels when you don't talk at all."

I didn't even know what to say. Never in a million years did I expect Sheriff to be so completely honest with me, and of all the people in his life to choose to open up to I was by far the least qualified. I shifted uncomfortably and sniffed before rubbing at my nose.

The Sheriff sighed. "Look, just humor me, okay?" He asked, the vulnerable emotion completely vanished from his voice as if it had never been there in the first place. "The therapy really helped you before; don't pretend it didn't."

I rolled my eyes.

"And actually, Morrell is already eager to see you. I've already spoken with her, and she says you can start off with one session a week. If she thinks you need more, or if you'd just like to meet more frequently, then you can adjust accordingly."

It felt like there was more. I could sense it in the way his shoulders were still rigid, in the way he scratched at his cheek and sighed laboriously before focusing his gaze back on me.

"Now… We're searching in town right now. We've basically ruled out the surrounding three blocks from where she disappeared, and we're still working our way towards the Warehouse District and downtown."

I sat up eagerly. He's going to let me help? I frowned hesitantly and tried to read his expression. He looked tired, and guarded, like he didn't want me to read something. My frown fell. "You're no closer to finding her at all."

"Yes we are," He stubbornly said. "We know she's not within three blocks of her vehicle. That's more than we knew this morning."

"That's ridiculous!" I outraged. "That's not something to be thankful for! That's _bad!"_

Then the Sheriff was chuckling. I froze, coming up short at the unexpected laughter that rumbled through him, and he lightly clapped a hand on his desk. "You have got to be the most pessimistic person I've ever met, do you know that?"

"And _you're_ the most blindly optimistic," I countered, baffled at how he could possibly be laughing at a time like this. "But I guess that's what makes you so good at your job, right?"

He shook his head and rubbed his face, the tired laughter finally puttering out. "Maybe it does."

Instead of responding, I shifted eagerly in my seat. "Does this mean that I get to help you search?"

The Sheriff sighed loudly and gave me a resigned nod, like it wasn't his first choice, but he was running out of options and didn't know how to deny me anymore. "To be honest, I think we could use your help."

* * *

We searched for what felt like days. It's only been hours, I know, and school had let out some time ago. I know that Stiles and Scott went with Derek and Isaac to go try and get some more answers by doing some sort of… _trick_ with Deaton. They were slated to begin in about thirty minutes. I still hadn't decided if I would be able to tear myself away long enough to join them or not.

Sheriff was distracted. He and about five other officers are searching the inside of a warehouse. Well, officers are searching, Sheriff is directing. And apparently it was deemed too dangerous inside for me to continue traipsing about with broken glass and rusty nails sticking up all over the nasty floors. I stifled myself from reminding them that I lived in places like this for a time.

And, here I was, waiting outside in an alley with a cigarette in my mouth. When Jefferson came out for a smoke break I snagged one off him and threatened to tattle about the handcuffs if he said anything.

Yeah. I just blackmailed a police officer to give a minor a cigarette. Old habits die hard—in more ways than one, I guess.

It did nothing for me now, but my nerves felt so frazzled that I thought… well, I don't know what I thought. It won't help, I know, but it gives me something to do.

The dry burn in my throat and lungs distracts me—and in some really bizarre way, that soothes me. With every inhale, my body heals itself impossibly fast so that it's as though smoke has never graced the inside of my mouth. But then I inhale again and it's like the first time all over again. And, well, there's a lot of coughing.

But I coughed into the crook of my arm, and the cops never overhear me. They're inside the warehouse, giving it a nice thorough search. I'm supposed to be searching the alley; Sheriff's patronizing way of making me feel like I'm actually contributing. And I will, but if there's a chance that I'm gonna find Brooke's crumpled body crammed in that dumpster, or stuck in some corner somewhere, I'm gonna need this stupid cigarette.

So I took another drag.

"Damn."

My head snapped up so fast that I got a twinge in my neck. Jack. He stood at the mouth of the alley, casually, with his hands in his jacket pockets, like he'd been standing there for ages already and just seen me back home last night and this was all totally normal. The lit cigarette still dangled from my slack lips, even with my fists tense at my sides.

"You promised me you would never start smoking," He suddenly reminded, strolling forward like he had all the time in the world. I couldn't find my voice. I just stared. Well, _gawked_ , really.

" _God_ , you look…" Jack trailed off, shaking his head as he looked at me in wonder, like he almost couldn't recognize me, but was proud of what I'd become. He nodded. "You look strong."

My temper flared, and I felt my hackles rise as I backed away from him slightly to keep a healthy distance between us. He noticed this and stopped, though there might have been something akin to remorse reflected in his eyes. Or maybe that was just annoyance. "You look _not_ dead," I somehow managed to spit out without stuttering, my anger giving me an air of confidence I didn't feel.

He flashed a lopsided grin, putting his arms out as if to present himself to me. "Surprised?"

I flicked my lit cigarette at him, and Jack flinched away from it before he gawked at me.

" _Rude!_ Shockingly rude!"

"Fuck off," I spat, and whirled on my heel to stalk away from him. He followed behind; I could tell because he continued to insist on talking to me.

"Oh, come on! Don't be like that! We're—"

I gasped in surprise because he stepped in front of me so fast his movements were almost imperceptible.

His smile was fading quickly, as was his patience. "We're _family_ , Savannah."

And I lunged. He jumped back, but not without receiving a nasty scrape down his cheek. Jack touched the wound and looked down at his bloodied fingertips. He gaped at me in disbelief.

"What did you do to her?" I shrilly snarled, and his hand was covering my mouth before I could even register what he was doing.

"Ah, ah, ah!" He whispered, pulling me into the shadows of the alley when Sheriff stepped out and looked around for me in concern. " _Shhhh_ …"

I stomped on Jack's foot but he merely laughed. Sheriff pulled out his walkie-talkie when he saw I was missing and a flood of frenzied instructions left his lips. He popped back into the warehouse, and for a long moment, I could do nothing but struggle against my brother's grasp.

It was as though I was six again, and it rattled me that he was still the stronger older brother I'd always known. Just as he had done when we were younger, he hissed at me to behave, and I insolently let my claws out to dig into the tops of his hands.

Jack let go with one hand to give the back of my head a reprimanding slap, and the action was so familiar it stunned me into absolute stillness. He sighed in content and I watched with wide eyes as Sheriff led the charge out of the warehouse and the cops dispersed to their cars, clipping out short instructions to each other as they went.

And before I knew it they were gone. The cars started, sirens blaring, lights flashing, and they tore down the streets in hasty pursuit of… no one. Because I was _here_ , in the alley, not out wherever Sheriff assumed I had gone to.

Likely he assumed I'd gone to Brooke's house or something—and that would certainly be a cause for concern.

I didn't have time to dwell on the implications as Jack finally released me and strolled out of from the shadows like nothing had ever happened. I couldn't help but gawk at him again. He was the same as I remembered, and yet altogether different.

More cocky, if that's possible. And also… _colder_ than I remember. There was a certain trace of callousness that bolstered every move he made and word he spoke that wasn't there before. I suppose that comes with abandoning your orphaned sister at the ripe age of nineteen.

"You're upset with me," Jack suddenly realized, and his tone somehow managed to singlehandedly belittle my reaction _and_ insinuate that it was overdramatic at the same time. "That's understandable. But when did you become so…." He broke off and mimicked flicking a cigarette, then touched his cheek where my scratch had been moments before. "Hateful?"

"You know, I'm not sure! Not too long after you abandoned me and let me think I killed you, but definitely before the second time I was arrested." I paused and pretended to think about it for another beat. "Or was it the third?"

"Savannah, wait a second..." Jack suddenly looked disgusted, disappointed, and ashamed, all at once. "You were arrested _three_ times?"

My jaw dropped.

Jack shook a heavy, disappointed head at me. "That's some pretty sloppy work. Carmichaels don't _get_ arrested."

"Oh, fuck you!" I declared, and Jack's mouth popped open much as mine had moments ago. "You know what? I don't care! I don't care how you found me, I don't care why you left. Just give me my friend back and _go_. All of you! Go!"

Jack shook his head. "'Fraid that's not possible, sis. Boss ain't finished yet."

"Finished with _what?_ " I wanted to know. "Why are you taking kids?"

"Me?" He raised his eyebrows and touched his chest with a laugh. "I didn't take no kid!"

Inwardly, I cringed at his grammar. It was especially grating because he knew he was speaking improperly—he just thought it made him seem tougher, somehow. I saw right through him. "No? You didn't take Isaac?"

"Isaac? Who's Isaac?" He scrunched his face at me and shrugged like there was someone else there and he wanted to know if they believed their ears.

" _One_ of the kids you and your merry band of misfits kidnapped!"

His laugh was breathy and purposefully wheezy, as he put his hands up at me and continued to theatrically pretend he was putting on for someone other than me. "Merry band of—no! I didn't kidnap Isaiah!"

"Jesus, _Isaac!"_

"Didn't kidnap Him, either," Jack smartly added, ignoring Isaac's name again in favor of Jesus. "I'm a catholic now."

And this was what finally caused me to bark out a loud, disbelieving laugh. Jack actually look mildly offended as he watched me howl with derisive laughter, his eyebrows raised. "Catholic!?"

"Yeah, nice pendant," He added, fluttering a finger at the dip of his own collarbone. "St. Anthony. You wear that for me?"

" _Fuck_. _You_." I snarled, and he mockingly winced at me in a way that seriously pissed me off—and also reminded me of myself, in some fucked up way.

"Boy, it's good to see you again," He teased, and I thought I was just seconds away from trying to snap that thick neck of his.

"What do you want?" I bit through my teeth.

Jack was so calm it somehow infuriated me more. "I'm just trying to reconnect with my sister," He shrugged. "Is that a crime?"

"Where is Brooke?" I shed all pretenses, and Jack's face sobered slightly.

He put his hands in his jean pockets and his shoulders looked impossibly wide—and I had a flashback to his red eyes, a grim reminder at what he had to have done to earn those red eyes creeping into the back of my mind. "You don't even wanna know if I'm…" For the first time, there was something that slightly resembled vulnerability in his eyes. He glanced briefly away, but it was gone so fast it could have been wishful thinking. He finally shrugged, just staring back at me with his hands in his pockets and shoulders slumped. Like he was defeated, suddenly. Tired. Finally, Jack rubbed his hand over his head, messing up his bun slightly. He seemed to realize it and tried smoothing it back down absently. "She's alive, I think."

Encouraged, I stepped forward, the closest I'd voluntarily come to Jack since that day in the hospital. "Where?"

He shook his head at me. "I don't know."

"What?" I scoffed and stepped partly away, my hand up in disbelief. "Stop! Cut the bullshit, dude, she's—" I frowned deeply and tried to imagine expressing to _him_ how important it was that I find her. "Just stop _lying_ to me."

Jack didn't even seem perturbed as he shrugged and shook his head at me. "I'm not lying," He unhelpfully insisted. "By the time I'd gotten back from the hospital, she wasn't where I left her."

My mind whirled with possibilities. I eventually looked back. "Did she escape?"

He actually snorted, but there was no trace of amusement on his face when he grimly shook his head at me. "No," He somberly assured. "That's not possible."

"Why?" I finally asked. And he knew I wasn't asking about the impossibility of Brooke escaping by herself. "Why would you even want her?"

Then, in a moment of honesty, Jack's eyebrow rose slightly. "I thought you would come for her."

It was worse than when he punched me in the face. I physically flinched, and Jack was curious at my response, but didn't say anything as I composed myself. "I didn't know," I rawly defended, feeling the need to justify myself to him for some inexplicable reason. He didn't say anything, only frowned as he stared. "I didn't realize until just this morning."

"You're looking for her," He acknowledged. "That's something."

"What is _wrong_ with you?" I suddenly wanted to know. Jack's eyebrows knit together and he looked like grew tired of this game we played. Probably because I kept passively aggressively accusing him of being a jackass. "Just tell me where she's at!"

"Why do you care so much?" He cruelly asked, and I lunged forward to shove him.

We froze at that action. The last time I did that…

I backed away in horror. Jack was stunned, but he hid it well behind a blank mask. He watched me retreat down the alley, let me go, and I knew this was not the last time I would see him. I knew this was not nearly over.

* * *

It was habit. It was habit to shove him, an action I'd done since birth. Jack has always had a way of getting under my skin. Ever since we were little, even growing up, he would push just the right button and provoke violence from me—even when violence used to be uncharacteristic coming from me. From day one, he's been pushing me around with insults and provocation, and I've been pushing him around with my hands. And it was how I thought our relationship ultimately ended, too.

I broke out of my thoughts when Isaac began speaking. I'd missed the weird ass ice tub ritual that Deaton made them do because Jack distracted me—but I arrived just in time for the cliff notes.

"You look like shit," Isaac told me. I turned to him in surprise, my mouth agape in an unshed laugh. "What?" He laughed.

I pointedly looked him over. He was damp and pale—so pale that his lips were blue, and his teeth still audibly chattered. He'd literally just brushed clothes with the Grim Reaper and he's sitting there wrapped in that towel telling me _I_ look like shit. I expressed as much to Isaac.

He shook his head with another laugh. "You do!" He insisted. "Is it because Brooke is missing?"

His eyes reflected a deep concern, and inwardly, I was warmed to find someone else who was just as worried for her as I was. "We have to find her," I told him, choosing to keep my little shit-show with Jack a secret from him. That's not what matters here. That's not why he just took a bubble bath in ice. We need to find them.

"We're gonna try," Derek told us, his arms crossed nearby. I didn't realize he'd been listening. Off to the side, Scott was talking with Deaton about the lights, which had gone out in the storm. And outside in the lobby, Stiles was on the phone with his dad, telling him that they'd found me looking for Brooke at school. "We just need to figure out how to get into that bank vault."

"I don't think she's in there," I dismissed without thinking. It was because of what Jack said to me—he'd mentioned that he wasn't where he left her when he got back from the hospital. If she'd been put in the vault with the others to begin with, then… I don't think she's there. But I'm assuming a lot if I choose to believe that.

Derek was prepared to ask me what I meant when Isaac confirmed my thought. "She's right. It was just Boyd and a girl in the vault. A girl like us."

Derek look unconvinced. He raised an eyebrow. "Brooke is a girl, right? And so is Erica."

"Brooke isn't like us," I testily reminded him.

"And Erica is dead."

At that grim reminder, Derek and I fell into grudging silence. Derek was not so sure about Erica—he'd already made that abundantly clear. But Stiles claims that Isaac explicitly said the dead body he'd seen in the vault was Erica's body, which was just _great_. Now I had even more to feel guilty about.

As if the stakes weren't high enough to find them, now one of them is likely dead. We aren't sure which one but we knew that it was only a matter of time before another one of them died. No matter who's dead, it sucks, but if it's Brooke… I'll never forgive myself.

We knew where they were, we just needed a way to get to them. I have to admit that the thought of getting back into contact with Jack has crossed my mind, but I had a feeling that this idea would be poorly received. And for now that's enough to keep me from saying anything. But if we aren't able to think of a way to get in by tomorrow night… I'm tracking Jack down, and he's taking me there. One way or another, I'm getting Brooke back.

Derek looked at me from the corner of his eye. Isaac had hopped down from the counter, muttering something about going to the restroom, which left Derek and I utterly alone.

I chewed at my lip and continued to think of ways to get into a vault. What, do we need like, a stethoscope? So we can listen for… what? What do those robbers even listen for in movies? I'd never learned how to break _into_ a safe. I just learned how to _break_ a safe. I've always been one to favor brute force over finesse—and I knew Derek was likeminded in that regard.

"You know if you go with us there's a chance you'll see your brother again," Derek suddenly warned me.

I raised an eyebrow and sighed heavily without looking at him. If I look at him, he'll know. "Oh, I'm betting on it."

Derek studied me closely through narrowed eyes. The room was dark, nothing but an occasional flash of lightening and moonlight there to keep the room illuminated. I knew Deaton and Scott had gone to try and fix the lights, but so far they were clearly having shit luck.

"You've already seen him again," Derek accused. My gaze snapped to him and I defensively scoffed and brushed around him.

"How would I have done that? How would I even have found the time?"

" _You_ didn't," Derek surmised, crossing his arms. "Did you?"

I glared at him. He merely raised a challenging eyebrow and watched me, trying to unnerve me. Trying to make me crack. Well, I won't. "No, I didn't."

"Because he found you. Didn't he?"

I looked away. "Let's just drop it—"

"Are you okay?"

I nearly fell over in shock. Derek Hale has never asked me if I was _okay_. At least, not that I can remember. I gawped at him like an idiot and he didn't even budge, waiting for me to properly answer him. "I—uh…" Glancing at the door, I cleared my throat and looked down at my boots. "I'm fine, Derek."

He looked like he didn't believe me. His mouth was drawn into a pinched point, his arms crossed huffily, and he studied me intensely. After a moment passed, he concluded, "No you're not."

My eye twitched. "You're right," I suddenly admitted, crossing my arms at him. "Happy?"

"I'm right as in you're not okay?"

"You're right as in he found me," I practically snarled, angered that I even had to clarify myself. Derek's eyebrows shot up from their permanently pissed off flex.

He was about to respond when Stiles stepped in. "Well, dad is sufficiently confused," He announced. "Be prepared to…" He trailed off once our tense atmosphere and rigid postures registered in his mind. Cautiously, he looked between us. "Guys? What's the matter?"

And for some reason, I didn't want him to know. I didn't want Stiles to know that I had spoken with my brother again—it felt… for some reason, it felt _wrong_. Like a betrayal. Like a treasonous act, or something. Consorting with the enemy.

Derek smoothly covered for me. "My betas are still missing, Brooke might be dead, her brother just showed back up with an alpha pack, and _your_ friend went missing from a birthday party last weekend."

Stiles blinked at him.

"Should I go on?" Derek haughtily asked, and Stiles hesitated.

"There's more?"

Derek's eyes rolled back with his head like Stiles had asked the most exhausting, ridiculous, annoying thing in the world. "Apparently!" I finally interjected, gesturing at Stiles widely. "Your dad is pissed at me now. Cherry on top. What's new?"

Stiles' face was marred with concern. "I wouldn't say he's _mad_ , he's just…" He tried to make it better; I know he did. He winced as he said, "He has some questions?"

I sighed loudly, and Stiles began to fill me in on the bullshit excuse he fed his dad about where I disappeared to while we were supposed to be out searching together.

* * *

Sheriff informed me that I was on thin ice this morning. While the boys were still passed out in Stiles' room from their late night research, I was wide-awake and sitting in the kitchen by the time Sheriff left for work.

I don't know what thin ice constitutes, exactly, but it didn't seem like a really great spot to be in. He told me that if I continued to pull stunts like yesterday, he would be forced to do something about it. And he also told me that if he found out I ditched school today, I would officially be grounded. And upon being questioned, he informed me that grounding is not Sheriff's way of taking action. So… that's definitely a bad sign.

Oh, and Stiles is visibly becoming affected by this. As in, beyond my help affected. He snapped at Scott for being relentlessly optimistic when it seemed like their ten hours of research had yielded _nothing_ , and then his eyes were actually glistening with tears in the next breath. I refuse to admit that I had no idea how to reach him—how to get him to talk to me. I was reminded of how Sheriff had told me that they were masters at bottling things up, and it made me realize that Stiles doesn't really talk to me about things that bother him. And I can't even begin to describe how awful that was to realize.

He looked exhausted from only getting two hours of sleep, and when I tried to give him coffee, he took two sips, told me it mixed funny with his Adderall, and then left the house without his book bag. We went back for it.

I hate what this is doing to us, but I don't know how to stop it.

Scott seems to think I'm making mountains out of molehills, and I hope he's right. I can barely concentrate in class today—my train of thought is deafening, and in no way concerned with school. It goes on a track from Brooke—to my brother—to Erica—back to Brooke—to the vault—to the Alpha pack—to my brother, and Rex—to Stiles—to Sheriff—to Rex again—to Brooke. And around, and around we go. Where will we stop? Nobody knows.

It doesn't end there. The new English teacher, Ms. Blake? She gave me a zero for the first assignment because I didn't complete it. Not to mention I think she already hates me. Then, she told me if I don't turn things around, and fast, she's going to recommend that I drop the class. I didn't even try to mention the hospital excuse like Scott told me to. What's the point?

"Hello, Savannah," Ms. Morrell said from behind her desk.

"Hey." I sniffed and rubbed at my nose, my mind still racing.

The corners of her lips tugged into a sad smile. "I wish I could say you looked good."

I snorted. "Ditto," I said, even though that's not even close to being true. Ms. Morrell always looks good, with her stick-straight, sleek black hair, perfectly glossed lips, and spider-lashes. She knew it, too.

She gave a small smirk. "How was your summer?"

"Long," I glanced at her. "And short."

"And vague?" She guessed, and I laughed, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. Her expression warmed slightly. "I heard you're having trouble in English."

I rolled my eyes. "That—" I just barely stopped myself from saying _bitch_. "She has it out for me," I finished with a paranoid expression.

"Maybe that's because you don't seem to be trying."

"I—" My voice was shrill and my tension returned tenfold. "I've been a bit busy!"

"Busy?" Morrell smoothly inquired, her eyebrow cocked.

"Yeah! My friend is _missing_ , in case you didn't notice—" Oh, she's good. After another beat passed I let a breath out I didn't know I was holding and laughed. "Okay…" I relented, finally slouching in the chair. "Let's talk."

"Brooke," she said, her smile turning sad. "Let's start there. From what I've heard, it seems to be what's bothering you the most. I've been thinking about her all week too." I was reminded of how I met Brooke, how she had been pestering Ms. Morrell about those stupid posters, and I recognized that Ms. Morrell must have considered Brooke one of her favorite students, and that her disappearance must have taken a toll on her. "I think I stop, but then I'll be doing something else like… filling my coffee cup, or printing out papers, and I catch myself thinking about something strange she does and wondering if she's okay."

I felt a muscle in my jaw jump. "Damn, doc," I teased. "That's grim."

"Don't you do the same?" She asked, and I sighed.

"All day," I assured her without missing a beat. "Right now. Five minutes ago. Last night, this morning."

Ms. Morrell nodded. "That must be so heavy," She said, with no small measure of pity. I shrugged, biting at my already raw thumbnail. She, of course, noticed this, and made a note. I felt the muscle in my jaw twitch again in annoyance.

"I would say suffocating, but… heavy is pretty good too."

I think she must have been surprised at how honest I was being. At least, I was surprised. If she was she didn't show it. She simply made some more notes before pushing the pad away.

"What about a sport?" She suddenly suggested. "Some sort of outlet?"

I have a feeling if I was anyone else, she would have advised medication by now. But given my history that was obviously not even on the table. "What, like volleyball?"

"Or lacrosse," She told me. "Or swimming, or soccer, or anything. Wrestling, even."

I bounced my knee. "I don't have the time."

Ms. Morrell was confused at that. "Why not? Do you have a job now?"

Hesitantly, I shook my head.

She pursed her lips and nodded, looking down at her desk for a moment. She took a breath before continuing. "It was just a suggestion. Think about it. No decisions have to be made yet. Sometimes… it's good to find an outlet."

"You said that," I noted.

"I meant it."

* * *

Stiles and I sat alone in his jeep. Scott was inside the restaurant, getting the food we ordered. I sighed and ran a hand over my hair, staring out the window as I thought quietly to myself.

"You know we missed a dinner with Rex?" Stiles suddenly asked.

My head snapped to him. "What? When?"

"Monday," He shook his head and sighed. "I totally spaced it. It's my fault, I'm sorry."

I looked at how tired he was, at how incredibly exhausted he appeared and how there was clear guilt written in his features. "Stop," I frowned. "Don't do that. It's not your fault. _None_ of this is your fault."

He let out a quiet laugh and didn't look at me as he shook his head and ran a hand over his knee. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Unsure, I paused before responding. "Well it wasn't supposed to make you feel _worse_ …"

Stiles gave me a real laugh and I let a small grin out. "Maria rescheduled to this weekend. I told her about Brooke and she understands… Rex wanted to do something sooner, but they're too busy."

My heart suddenly yearned to see him. To see his little face, hear him laugh, or ramble about anything and everything. He can light up my life unlike anyone else, and he doesn't even know it. My throat grew thick with guilt and remorse. "Damn it," I murmured, rubbing a hand anxiously through my hair.

Stiles' hand touched my shoulder and I turned to him just in time to see him leaning over for a kiss. Dejectedly, I returned it, and he looked at me in deep concern as he pulled away. With a feather-light touch he ran the back of his fingers over my cheek, and I closed my eyes and turned my face into his palm. His voice was low and determined as he declared, "We'll get through this."

I opened my eyes again to look at his face—to see if he actually believed himself or not. And he did. He looked back at me unflinchingly, a small crease between his brows, and gave me a solemn nod. "We have to," He added.

I looked away, watching as Scott waited at the edge of the street in the rain with bags in his hand. In my head I acknowledged that Stiles was right, but outwardly, I noted that Scott was back, and I reached back to open his door for him.

* * *

I laughed as I hadn't in weeks. My stomach hurt and I was bent over, tears actually springing in my eyes, and I knew I should probably get a grip but I couldn't help it.

Derek just punched Stiles' open hand so hard that Stiles fell to the ground with a grunt. He'd been babbling about how to break into the vault, and when Derek informed us that he was going to punch through the wall Stiles was extremely skeptical. I tried to warn him but he ignored me and challenged Derek to punch his hand as hard as he could.

And he did. Stiles retreated from Derek with his tail between his legs, coming to stand beside me, and glared at me as I dissolved into another fit of giggles when I saw him rubbing his wounded hand. Derek rolled his eyes at us and shook his head as he turned away.

Stiles pouted as he held his hand out for me to see. The palm was red and would likely bruise. I bit my cheek to keep from laughing again as I lightly patted the back of Stiles' hand, holding it between mine.

"Who's following me through the wall?" Derek asked, and before I could volunteer, Beacon Hills' fiercest diva decided to finally emerge from the shadows of the spiral staircase he'd been lounging on.

"Don't look at me," He said, "I'm not exactly in fighting condition. And honestly with Isaac out of commission your odds aren't looking good."

"Hey!" I dropped Stiles' hand and stood defiantly. "I resent that!"

Peter simply spared me an unimpressed glance but for the most part ignored me as Derek continued.

"So I'm just supposed to let them _die?"_ Derek incredulously asked.

Peter shrugged a shoulder. "They're already dead."

"We don't _know_ that," Derek growled.

Peter gave him an impatient look, and Derek simply raised his eyebrows. "Do I have to remind you what we're up against here?"

Derek sighed and ducked his head as if he already knew that Peter would remind us all whether we wanted him to or not. Stiles and I exchanged a weary glance and Scott straightened slightly before Peter finally continued.

"A _pack_ of alphas. _All_ of them killers, and if that's not enough to scare your testicles back into your stomach, try to remember that _two_ of them combine bodies to form One Giant Alpha… I'm sure Erica, Brooke and Boyd are sweet kids; they're gonna be missed."

Stiles' hand stopped me from lunging for Peter. Peter looked at me from the staircase, a bemused but decidedly unimpressed expression on his face as Stiles smartly asked for someone to kill him again.

"Gladly," I growled, and Derek finally piped up before the situation could escalate. Peter didn't appreciate my open hostility; it was written all across the open sneer he gave me.

"What about you two?"

Stiles shrugged and nodded to indicate me. "Yeah, we'll come—"

"— _Not_ you!"

Stiles nodded knowingly, if a little embarrassedly, and pointed at Scott as he stepped away from me.

"Don't be stupid." I crossed my arms at Derek and glanced at Scott. "Of course I'm going."

"If they're still alive, we've got to do something," Scott somberly agreed. "We have to try… We _have_ to."

Frankly, I was surprised that there was ever any question of that at all.

* * *

"What?" Derek snapped at Scott, who was hesitating just outside the wall of the bank. We stood in an alley—actually… an alley not far from where my brother found me just a few hours ago. I shook that information off and filed it away for later, focusing on the conversation again.

"It's just something that I can't get out of my head," Scott tried to dismiss, as if that made it sound any less important.

"What?" I asked, less angry than Derek and more concerned. "This is one of those _speak now_ moments, Scott."

His eyebrows scrunched together and he looked down. "It's… risk and reward."

I glanced at Derek to see if I was missing something, but he looked just as clueless as I felt. Sirens sounded off in the distance, and Derek's breath was visible in the cool night air as he impatiently reminded Scott that the moon was rising and we didn't have time for him to be unclear.

"We're not measuring the risk with enough information; we don't know enough," Scott clarified, but just barely.

Derek grew more agitated. "We know _time_ is running out!"

"Yeah, but think about it!" Scott insisted. I impatiently shifted on my heels. "They put the triskelion on your door _four_ months ago…"

I grew still as I realized that Scott actually had a point to make. My eyes focused on Derek to watch his reaction, and he was hesitating too as Scott went on.

"What have they been doing all this time? Why wait until now?"

"We don't _have_ the time to figure out every little detail!" Derek urgently whispered, like he desperately wanted to shout but knew he couldn't.

"But what if _this_ detail… the reason _why_ they waited… what if it's the most important one?" Scott asked, and I felt my already jumbled nerves solidify into something more weighted and solid… dread. If Scott's right and there's some huge reason they waited, we really are walking in blind.

I looked to Derek. "Then we do nothing," Derek said in his deep voice, sounding so sure of himself. "And Boyd, and Erica, _and_ Brooke are all dead. I know what I'm risking. _My_ life for theirs."

I blinked and suddenly something clicked then. Derek's words actually calmed me—no... more than that, they made me _want_ to follow him. For the first time, Derek sounds like a leader… like an alpha. He's finally figuring it out, and it didn't even happen until it was almost too late. Until his pack might already be dead, and in a way, that's sad.

As Derek finally leapt up to grab the fire escape, I took a deep breath and exchanged a glance with Scott, letting him go first before I brought up the rear.

We worked in tandem, going up to the roof so that we could crawl through the vents and wriggle our way down into the walls. Derek set a quick pace, making it seem like he crawls through the inside of old brick buildings every day. Scott and I followed a lot slower, a lot more unsure of ourselves, but we managed to keep up.

When we finally reached the wall inside the vault, Derek spared us one final fleeting glance before he started pounding on the bricks.

The whole wall trembled under his fist. He held his breath with effort, raring back to go again. Rubble and dust rained down over us, and when the third hit gouged out a huge chunk of stone, Scott pushed me back out of the splash zone. When he finally made a hole in the wall, it was big enough to see through.

Derek pulled his arm out and spit out some of the powder that now covered his face, and it almost would have been comical, but he put his head down and leapt forward, crashing completely through the wall and creating a large enough hole for Scott and I to follow him.

It was dark. _Very_ dark. The air was stale, and the floors were covered in light colored dust. The vault was silent. It reeked of pheromones—faint traces of what might have been ammonia, and a definite note of Bod cologne drenched in sweat and laced with barely suppressed rage.

I could detect the faintest note of a familiar feminine perfume, but it was so weak that it could have just been wishful thinking.

"Boyd?" Derek hesitantly asked from where he still crouched on the ground.

A figure I hadn't even noticed moving stilled, standing off near a metal wall of deposit boxes. The figure's head was ducked and I saw his head sort of twitch to the side for a moment before he looked up.

Boyd looked tired. But more than that, he looked… not himself. Like he couldn't quite recognize us. He stood tense, with his shoulders near his ears, and it was weird because I pictured him chained up somewhere, not _loose_ in a vault pacing like… like a caged animal.

"Boyd, it's me… It's Derek." Derek seemed unsure, but he was probably thinking along the same lines as me.

It was like I could _smell_ Boyd's intent. I could sense his aggression, like a homeless dog that was unfamiliar with human contact and had been severely abused. Distrusting and hostile, and moments away from lunging, from snapping.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I jumped, startled, and Scott looked just as surprised and frantic when I raised the phone to my ear. "Savannah!" Stiles called out, desperate. "Savannah, it's a trap!"

"What?" I whispered, frowning at Scott in confusion. "Stiles, we're already in the vault."

Derek stood slowly, his hand out to Boyd in a calming gesture, but it only seemed to agitate the boy more. He twitched, his growling intensifying as he scrutinized Derek's every move.

"You have to get out! The walls are lined with a mineral that scatters the moonlight—it—it's—"

I was surprised to hear Peter speak up then. "Think of it like the Coliseum of the Roman Gladiators; they used to starve the lions for three days before battle to make them more vicious, more out of control—Deucalion has kept them from shifting for three full moons… diminishing their tolerance to it."

As if to echo Peter's words, Boyd let out a horrifying roar that wasn't even remotely human, his jaw flexing widely as he shifted on his feet anxiously.

"Guys, they're gonna be stronger!" Stiles warned.

"More savage, more blood thirsty—see—they're the lions… they're the starved lions and you just stepped into the Coliseum."

Scott and I turned towards the hole to make a break for it, but the light from the full moon was at its peak and crawling across the floor of the vault. Behind us, Boyd huffed and growled eagerly.

"Derek, we got a problem," Scott spoke, causing Derek to glance uncertainly between us and Boyd. "A really big problem."

I focused on Boyd, who looked ready to charge, and froze when a girl's silhouette stepped out from behind Boyd. At first my heart was in my throat and I nearly dropped my phone. But then I smelled her, and realized I didn't know her and that she was also growling.

Derek saw her too, and he froze and stared openly. I recognized that expression of complete and total shock—like a bucket of ice was just poured over your head. Like you were dazed, and you know what you _think_ you see but you're so convinced that it can't be true that you… hesitate.

"Cora?" Derek finally asked, his voice gentle and unsure.

I looked back at the girl as Scott asked who she was.

Derek's voice was more urgent, bordering on pleading as he said, " _Cora?_ "

The girl took an unsteady breath and her nose snarled slightly. "…Derek… get out. Get out _now_." She quietly replied, and I knew then that she had to mean a lot to him. I knew it by the visceral, almost physical flinch he had, apparently blindsided.

Wasn't I just in this exact position? Wasn't this same thing _just_ happening to me?

Scott didn't seem to know what to do. He stood there, at a loss, and it didn't even register when I dropped my phone and it clattered to the ground. A tinny voice frantically called out but I stepped towards Derek and grabbed his shoulder. He jumped and I think if it had been anyone else he would've jerked out from under their grasp, but when he finally managed to tear his gaze away from her, he looked at me and for some reason he didn't move.

I felt a rush of protectiveness for Derek in that moment. I know exactly how he feels, and I know how terrible it is to go through it alone. He let me pull him away, pull him towards the hole in the wall.

The vault door swung open. I put my hand up to the light that poured in, my eyes squinting against it, and when a woman stepped up to the mouth of the vault I thought I might have been hallucinating.

"Ms. Morrell?" My voice was clear disbelief. She kept a straight face as she looked back at me, then bent down without responding to pour a line of familiar black powder across the ground. I realized that she had just closed a border—a ring, that spanned the entire perimeter of the vault, and the cold sting of betrayal tore across my chest.

She stood up and looked back at me as she stepped away, nothing in her face revealing an ounce of guilt. As she turned away, the feral betas finally snapped.

Cora lunged for me, where I still stood in front of Derek like a bodyguard. I barely had time to block her claws before Derek tore me out of the way to shove the girl forcefully across the floor, her claws raking up sparks in her wake.

Scott elbowed Boyd in the face and Boyd staggered a step back, releasing Scott's shoulders. He shook his head and blood dripped from his thick lips. Boyd looked up to snarl at me as Scott kicked him in the chest, sending flying him backwards.

The girl was up again—apparently determined to engage me—and I dove to the side just as she flew past. She caught me around the ankles and swept my legs out from under me, and I fell flat on the ground, the wind knocked out of me.

Derek went to help Scott with Boyd, since apparently Boyd is like a relentless bull and Cora is more of a prowling jungle cat.

She hunched close to the floor, crawling around the side of a pillar with her eyes glued to my every move. I took a breath and sat up so I could scramble back, and she rushed towards me. I grabbed her by the arms and used my feet to throw her back, summersaulting backwards in the process. She landed on her side and slid away again, and this seemed to infuriate her.

Cora turned and charged me, and I met her halfway. We apparently had the same idea and grabbed each other by the throat. Our strength was evenly matched, but she was a lot more determined than I was to try and kill me. I just wanted her _off_ —I didn't want her dead—but she held no such regard for me.

Her claws dug into the tender flesh of my neck and I choked out in pain, pushing against her as hard as I could. She snarled viciously and in a sudden bout of strength, raised me off the floor.

I was getting seriously sick of people going for my throat. So, using the lift to my advantage, I leaned back and lifted my legs up, wrapping them around her waist to use my legs and push her back as hard as I could. It was working; her grip was slipping.

She snarled in frustration and I let go of her neck to slide my hands between her arms and pry her off my neck.

She finally lost grip and her hands flew off, and she roared as I brought the heel of my hand back to smash into her nose. Cora stumbled back with me still wrapped around her like a koala, crashing into the metallic wall behind us, and I was surprised to hear Allison calling Boyd's name out behind me.

I looked up just in time to see her break the border of powder, much to Derek's chagrin, and Boyd yanked his claws from Scott's chest and let him drop limply to the ground, racing towards the door of the open vault.

Cora suddenly bucked under me and threw me off her. My head thudded dully against the metallic wall and I think I felt my skull crack as she scrambled to follow after Boyd, blasting past Allison without a second glance.

I blinked the stars from my vision and coughed, and barely got to my feet while Derek and Allison started yelling at each other. I staggered towards the exit to catch the tale end of the argument.

"I've made mistakes," Allison tiredly admitted, her voice thick and lips trembling with unshed tears. "Gerard is _not_ my fault."

Derek didn't even look an ounce sympathetic as he asked, "And what about your mother?"

Allison's expression melted from remorseful to confused. She shook her head. "What do you mean?"

Derek turned to Scott, who was purposefully avoiding everyone's gaze. I put a hand to my head and thought about how we didn't have _time_ for any of this, as Derek said, "Tell her, Scott."

Scott looked sick. All at once, he looked pissed at Derek for bringing it up, and in pain from the attack he'd just lived through, and racked with guilt.

"What does he mean, Scott?" Allison's voice was suddenly fearful, and Scott could barely look at her. "What does he mean?"

I rolled my eyes and shoved past her. She gave me a dirty look—I could feel her eyes searing into the back of my head at ruining the moment, but I ignored them all. "Brooke!" I called, looking around the bank for any movement. " _Brooke!"_

"Savannah," Derek hollered after me, jogging to catch up. I kept going.

"Brooke!" I moved out of the lobby and down a hallway that shot straight out the other side of the bank. It was empty, and dark, with papers scattered across the ground. I smelled that same feminine perfume that I detected when I first stepped into the vault, but stronger now. It was hidden under an overwhelming stench of ammonia and something… _deeper_. Ranker. More than the scent you'd expect to find in an abandoned bank.

"Savannah, hold on," Derek tried, and I ignored him as I followed the scent to a door in the hallway. I stopped, my hand on top of it. Derek caught up to me and frowned because I knew he smelled it too. He stared at the door and then glanced at me, as if waiting for me to open it so we could see what was inside.

I took another breath before reach down to turn the knob and step inside. A jacket was on the ground, soaked in ammonia. It was black and purple plaid—Allison's. The empty gallon container of ammonia was turned on its side, and I realized that Allison must have spilled it to hide herself in the closet for some reason.

I thought the closet was empty. I thought so, at least, until Derek stepped around me and went to stare down at something in the corner. I followed his gaze and squinted and I thought my heart was going to jump out of my mouth.

He bent down to pick up the body, and I stepped back in horror. I couldn't move—couldn't breathe—until Derek stepped in the light and I saw the blonde hair.

An overwhelming wave of relief crashed over me, drenching my sadness at seeing Erica's lifeless body in Derek's hands. He looked at me with a completely unguarded expression of deep regret and guilt, and I felt my eyes burn with tears. Whether from the realization that this girl actually _died_ , or from the realization that Brooke is still missing, or from the overturned bottle of ammonia… I don't know. Take your pick.

Derek and I felt especially moved by this, because _we_ were the ones who dragged Erica into this life. We were the sole reason she was even put in the position to be killed at all. Without us, she would still be alive. She would be managing her epilepsy like normal, and quietly living her life. She'd probably be at home studying now. Not…

I cast my eyes down as Derek stepped past me to carry Erica out. Allison and Scott stopped speaking when they saw us approach, first seeing my expression, and then catching sight of Derek and whom he had cradled in his arms.

I clenched my jaw and thought of how none of this was fair, and how we didn't get any real answers from any of this; only grim discoveries, more questions and a huge mess to clean up.

Brooke is still missing. _Where?_

Cora, Derek's sister, is apparently alive. _How?_

Ms. Morrell is working with the alpha pack. _Why?_

I thought I had everything figured out. By the end of the summer, I really thought I finally had it all figured out. But as it turns out, I knew nothing. Nothing at all.

* * *

 ** _P.S. who do you guys picture Jack as? I'm stuck between Sebastian Stan and Avan Jogia. Avan Jogia looks more like he could be Savannah's brother, but Sebastian has blue eyes and I've seen him wear a man bun and he would pull of the character really well... Maybe he's a bizarre mixture of them, idk. A buffer Avan with blue eyes or a smaller Sebastian with a darker complexion XD Lol._**


	68. Kenopsia

**_I'm glad you guys mostly see Jack as Sebastian Stan too! He does fit the role better, I think. And as time goes on and we see more and more of his character, hopefully it will be easier to get a concrete image of him in your heads._**

* * *

 _Kenopsia:_

 _n._ The eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that's usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet.

* * *

Branches blew past. Under my boots, the leaves and underbrush softly cracked, and to the untrained ear the noise I made was nothing more than a forest animal skittering by. I led a frantically twisted path, through trees and down hills, across creeks and up the preserve.

When the trees cleared, I came to an abrupt stop. I tried to quiet my panting and strained my ears. Off in the near distance, coming from the East, I could hear something large trampling through the woods. In front of me there was a large rock protruding from the ground. Hastily, I reached down to claw it from the earth, and tested the weight in my hand. A low hanging branch on the thick tree next to me offered a boost up, and I climbed until I felt I was high enough. I waited until she was just at the edge of the clearing before I leapt out.

Cora roared in surprise when I dropped seemingly from the sky, and we rolled to the forest floor. She was winded for only a second—but it was enough. I lifted the rock up high above my head before bashing it into the top of her forehead.

For a moment, she stilled. Her hands froze where they had been clawing desperately at my arms and chest, and her legs stopped kicking underneath me. I had struck her with enough force that if she was human, it likely would have killed her. But as a werewolf, the worst that'll happen is a face and mouth full of blood, and sticky hair. I held my breath, and for just a fleeting second, I thought I had succeeded in knocking her unconscious. Her head was limp. Her arms had lost their incredible brute strength.

So gingerly, I lifted the rock from her forehead and looked away to discard the bloodied rock back in the underbrush. And that was my mistake.

Cora scared the crap out of me, plunging her claws straight through my ribcage like she was cheating at bobbing for apples. Her rage and ferocity shone through her blood streaked face and truly made her a fearsome sight, and I think I can guarantee that I will be having nightmares about the sadistic glint I saw in her glowing yellow eyes for years to come.

I'm not kidding when I say that Cora literally lifted me off of her and into the air with one hand claw-deep in my chest. She bared her teeth and snarled at me, and once she was upright, she flung me across the clearing like I was a sack of potatoes.

And as I crashed into the ground, I thought I might as well have been a sack of potatoes—with many eyes, because I swear my vision tripled. That, or Derek somehow figured out how to split into three Dereks and they all broke through the clearing just in time to see Cora bounding vengefully towards an incapacitated sack of potatoes.

The Dereks crouched down to roar at their sister in warning, standing between us protectively. Cora skidded to a stop and let out a frustrated shriek of her own, cast me one last dirty look, and then turned around to flee in the opposite direction.

Derek turned to me with a sour expression. "Get up."

I coughed and rolled my head away to blink dazedly at the starry sky. Once the world finally stopped spinning, I whined, "I'm _injured_ , by the way. Your sister just impaled me with her hand and then catapulted me into a tree!"

"Then you're lucky she didn't rip your lung out," Derek testily informed me, coming to stand over me to offer a hand up. I scowled up at him and he simply frowned back. "Now _get_ _up_."

He hauled me up by the wrist and then quickly threaded his arm behind my shoulders to support my weight. I coughed out some blood and winced, leaning away from him to spit on the ground. "Your sister is such a bitch."

Derek sighed and looked away, his eyes roving through the trees. "Yeah I guess it runs in the family…"

I laughed and then quickly cringed at the twist of pain from the lower part of my ribcage. "Oh, my poor pancreas."

"Stop whining," Derek crassly instructed. I gaped at him and he ignored me. "We need to stop Cora and Boyd before they do _that_ to a human," He nodded down at where my injury was and I felt my mouth clamp shut.

Just then, Scott broke through the clearing and looked at us in exasperation, like he'd been searching everywhere. "Fair enough," I told Derek, and he focused all his attention on Scott as he jogged over to us.

Scott looked me over in mild concern. "What happened?"

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak Derek spoke for me. "My sister. She went that way, but we've already wasted about two minutes waiting for Savannah to heal. She could be anywhere by now."

I reached over to smack Derek's shoulder and he barely grunted in response. Scott turned to gaze in the direction Cora had fled. "She couldn't have gone far. But Boyd was running in this direction too, so they probably caught up to each other by now."

"Anymore good news?" I blandly asked, and as if to answer my question Isaac appeared beside Scott from seemingly nowhere.

" _Whoa_ , Savannah, what happened to you? Are you hurt?"

"Not really, I just like being close to Derbear," I joked, and Derek rolled his eyes as I made a show of snuggling up to his side. He shoved me away and I chuckled even though I felt mildly chided, stumbling until I found my feet again.

"She's fine," Derek told Isaac. Isaac raised his eyebrows but glanced at me, unconvinced. "Should we split up? We'd cover more ground."

I perked up in confusion as Scott loudly sighed and considered it. He looked over the trees and shook his head to himself, and I quietly leaned over to Isaac. "Were we supposed to be _sticking together_ before?"

Derek sent me a scathing glare and answered for him. "Yes."

I put my hands up and turned to Isaac as if to ask what crawled up Derek's ass and died, and Isaac knowingly murmured, "I was with Scott; you were with Derek."

 _Oops_. I bit my knuckle and shut my trap after that.

"No, they're too dangerous. We shouldn't face them alone," Scott looked at me pointedly for good measure, like I was the example for why it was a bad idea. "They're stronger than us right now."

I resisted the childish urge to stick my tongue out at him.

But he's right. They are stronger than us. That wasn't the first time I'd tangled with Cora tonight—besides the episode in the vault, she attacked me two other times. She'd never actually done any lasting damage, because she would get away before we could truly engage. That's why I thought maybe cutting her off in an ambush would've been more effective… turns out, that was worse. And to be honest I'm not sure what there's left to do.

Cora is rabid; she's not even remotely human right now. She tore into me like I was a cooked ham and she'd been starved of food for three weeks. The difference is, I can handle it. I can heal. But a human? An innocent camper? They wouldn't be so fortunate.

I hate to say it; I hate to even think it, but they're getting closer to the edge of the preserve, which means they're getting closer to town. And that means either finding some way to trap them—which seems impossible because we can't even get them down long enough to knock them out—or… well. Do whatever it takes to knock them down and take them out.

I was pulled from my dark thoughts when Scott's phone started to ring. Refocusing on the group before me, I listened in as Stiles said something about Lydia, a dead lifeguard, and the city pool.

Scott leaned away in annoyance when I grabbed him by the back of the elbow and tried to pull the phone close so I could hear him.

"What the hell was a lifeguard doing at the pool _alone_ this late at night?" I wanted to know, and Stiles voice rang out urgently.

Scott frowned and held the phone out to me.

I took it and turned away from them all to face the trees. "Hello?"

"Savannah!" Stiles exclaimed. "Where's your phone?"

"It's right here," I reached down to grab it from my pocket and then froze when I realized my pocket was empty. Frantically, I patted at both front and back pockets—and just be sure, I checked my bra. "What the hell?"

"Yeah!" Stiles said. "I tried calling you like _six_ times. What happened, did you drop it in the vault or something?"

I hit my fist against my forehead and quietly cursed. "I guess… Stupid, stupid—"

"Listen, we don't have time to worry about it now, but you need to get a new phone. There's too much crap happening for us to not be able to reach each other."

Guilt welled in my heart and I twisted a hand through my hair with a sigh. "Yeah, okay."

"Give the phone back to Scott," Stiles said, and I started to turn around. "Wait!"

I froze, listening at the long pause that followed after. "What?"

He hesitated again. I frowned and almost said his name, pulling away to see if we lost connection, but he finally spoke. "Don't do anything stupid, okay? If you—" He broke off and I was filled with warmth at his concern before he continued. "Just don't get _killed_ , alright? I'll never forgive you."

I chuckled and nodded. "Sure." And before we could get any more emotional or anything, I passed the phone back to Scott. He spoke with Stiles for another few moments before we reconvened.

I stood with my arms crossed over my chest and my thumb at my lips as I chewed anxiously at the already destroyed nail. "How could they get _that_ far, _that_ fast?" I wondered aloud, and Derek seemed to share my sentiment.

"It doesn't matter how," Scott righteously said with his feet squared. "The only thing that matters is that someone is dead. Do you guys get what that means? They killed an innocent person because we were too slow. It's our fault!"

"But that doesn't make sense!" I insisted. "We all saw them! The city pool is _miles_ away! They were literally _just_ here ten minutes ago. I'm still healing!"

"Exactly!" Scott exclaimed, throwing his hands up at me. "Look at you! We're _way_ out of our league here!"

"It's my fault," Derek suddenly declared. I whirled around to give him a disbelieving frown, but he only raised his eyebrows at me. "Not yours. Not any of yours. Mine. These are my betas."

"Oh," I rolled my eyes and turned away from him. "For God's sake, Derek, this is not your fault."

He stiffened and I barreled over him before he could comment.

"This is _Deucalion's_ fault! This was the alpha pack, not you."

"No, you don't get it," Derek lowly persisted. "It _is_ my fault. If I had been a better alpha, then they never would have been taken. They would have been ready. We _all_ would have been ready to handle it."

"Derek," I tried, wanting to insist that he stop shouldering all the guilt, but Scott intervened.

"We can pass blame around later," Scott assured us. "We all made mistakes. But now it's time to own up to those mistakes and admit that we can't handle the situation anymore. In order to stop them from killing anyone else, we _need_ to be able to track them and hunt them down."

"We get that! We're trying our best!" Isaac exclaimed.

"And it's not good enough," Derek point blank said. Isaac and I winced at the same time, and Derek turned away from us to turn to Scott. "Trying to trick them or fight them isn't working. Maybe…" he hesitated, glancing around at all of us like he knew we wouldn't like what he had to say. And in my mind, I realized he'd come to the same grueling conclusion that I had just before Stiles called. "Maybe the only thing left to do is kill them."

"We can't kill them!" Scott exploded. "That's not helping anyone!"

"Then what do you suggest?" Derek asked, stepping forward in a challenge like he was prepared to explain why whatever Scott suggests is the wrong choice.

Scott looked just as determined. "We need an expert. Someone who can track and hunt a werewolf."

It clicked in my mind. "No," I realized, and Scott turned to me defensively. "That's crazy! That _definitely_ won't work! He would never go for it, Scott."

"What?" Isaac asked, glancing between us cluelessly. "What won't work?"

"Just let me talk to him," Scott insisted, his face determined. "He's starting to trust me, I think. Either way it's our best option, and I think I know how to get him to listen."

"Who?" Isaac growled, annoyed at being ignored.

"Chris Argent," Derek knowingly filled in, his arms crossed as he fixed Scott with an unimpressed glare. "That… actually might be a good idea."

Scott's eyebrows rocketed in surprise and I think my head might have popped off. " _Great_. Let's get our sworn enemy to help us. Good plan. Flawless, really, I see no potentially disastrous traps ahead."

"Savannah," Derek warned. "Not helping."

I sighed at the only ally I thought I had in my argument, and rubbed my face tiredly.

* * *

We waited in Derek's new ride outside a grocery store. It wasn't the black Camaro from before; it was a Toyota. A _Toyota_. Still black, but come on!

I teased him mercilessly for it until he finally snapped at me that if I didn't like it I could walk. I sniggered quietly and chose to continue ridiculing him in my mind, and I think the sentiment must have still gotten through to him, because every now and then he would scowl at me and tell me to shut up.

Scott was able to direct Derek where to drive by following Chris's scent—and it didn't escape me how incredibly strange and somehow violating that was, but…

"Do you really think this will work?" Isaac asked from the back seat. None of us had spoken aloud since Scott got out a few minutes ago.

"Nope," Derek and I said at the same time. I snorted because he had told a very different story back in the woods, and I ignored the scathing glare that Derek threw my way.

"Me neither," Isaac agreed, and it almost made him seem childish for some reason. I was overcome with the feeling that Derek and I were his parents and he was the kid strapped in a car seat in the back, and I snorted at the thought.

Derek glanced at me again, this time more curious than hostile, but I just shook my head at him. No way was I explaining the bizarre imagination I have.

We watched Scott sneak up behind Chris and Chris pull a gun on him when he startled. I snickered as Scott managed to calm Chris down, and Derek sighed beside me. Still, Chris kept the gun aimed at him. So much for trust.

"So…" Isaac started again, and I looked down at the glowing lights on the radio as I listened. "Derek. Your sister…"

 _No he's not!_ _He's not seriously going there!_ I looked into the rearview mirror to convey to Isaac to _pull back_ with my eyes, but he didn't notice my metaphorical smoke signal, or the way Derek's fist clenched in his lap.

"She's alive," Isaac stupidly prodded. _Abort, abort!_ Derek's nostrils flared and he glanced up at the rearview mirror, the only outward sign of his temper. "That must have been a shock, huh?"

I finally whipped around to smack Isaac in the nose. "Shut the fuck up!" I hissed, and he violently fell back into the seat to try and scramble away from me. I leveled a sharp finger in his face and said, " _No_."

Isaac opened his mouth and I cut him off by jabbing his nose again.

"No! _"_ I forcefully repeated.

Isaac batted my hand out of his face and I slapped his hand off me. He smacked my hand in retaliation, his face scowling with indignation, and I felt my eyes widen in outrage as I reached down to grab him by the shirt and pull him up so I could grab him around the neck in a head lock.

"Guys," Derek sighed, but we didn't even notice him as Isaac flailed under my grip and let out a string of curses, batting at me uselessly. "Guys!"

I was just reaching around to tug at the back of Isaac's boxers, determined to give him a wedgie, when Derek's hand grabbed a fistful of my shirt and yanked me backwards. I let go of Isaac with a yelp and plopped down on the seat with a huff, pouting at Derek.

He was looking at me with wide eyes and his eyebrows raised, his mouth drawn into that signature pinch of his and head tilted in silent question. _Really_? His face asked me.

I shoved his hand off my shirt and settled back into my seat with one final huff. "He started it…" I pouted, and Derek warned me to shut up or else he'd finish it.

I continued to give Isaac the stank eye from the rear view mirror, and he flipped me off. Before I could retaliate, Derek smacked my shoulder. My mouth fell open as I prepared to explain that I hadn't even _done_ anything yet, when I saw Derek pointing out the window at Scott.

Chris had apparently lowered the gun, and was walking away to the driver's side. Scott followed Chris and got into his vehicle. I frowned in confusion and looked to Derek. "What the hell is he doing?"

Derek shook his head as he reached down to start the ignition. "I don't know."

Isaac sat forward and we exchanged a weary glance as Derek pulled out behind Scott to follow them. When we began to go towards the pool, I realized that Scott was taking Chris to the scene of the crime where the lifeguard was killed.

"Holy shit," I realized. "Is Argent actually going to help us?" I looked to Derek, but he was just frowning in contemplation at the vehicle he followed. He offered me no answers or reassurances, and I watched as Chris put his vehicle into park.

For a moment, no one said anything. We all held our breath and crossed our fingers and toes as we waited to see what would happen next.

I fully expected Scott to get out of the passenger seat. But then, the brake lights came back on, and Chris pulled around the scene without getting out. When we were finally back on the road, following them in the direction of the Preserve, I murmured an impressed, "Son of a bitch…"

* * *

Chris didn't trust me at all. To be fair he didn't trust any of us, least of all Derek, but… The only time Chris and I have ever interacted was at that showdown with Gerard, and we might have been playing for the same team then, but it was clear that we held different allegiances. Even now, all these months later, it's hard to shake that feeling.

It didn't take long for him to make us feel like amateurs. He asked how we'd been tracking them. When we admitted that we'd been going by footprints, he easily pointed out that we'd been following our own footprints in circles. That we found the rabid betas at all was a miracle in and of itself, and to be honest, now that I'm thinking about it the only time I was ever able to actually track Cora was by listening for her.

So Chris wowed us with his super-cool-hunter tips, and armed us with strobe light stakes that emitted a high pitched frequency. We were supposed to stick those in the ground to herd them towards the school, where the ultimate destination was. There, we would trap them in the boiler room. I thought of the huge metal doors that I had seen at the bottom of the stairs down the hall just yesterday while Lydia and I went to through the nearby supply closet, and I knew that if everything else went smoothly and we could get them down there, then the plan would work.

We followed Chris to the edge of the cliff where he overlooked the illuminated cityscape of Beacon Hills in the darkness. We would have to track the betas, find them, and then lead them from all the way up here, to all the way down to the city where the High School was.

"How long has it been since you've seen your sister?" Chris asked Derek, and I thought of how we just saw her about forty-five minutes ago.

"Nine years," Derek answered, a somewhat different response than I would have had. "I thought she died in the fire."

Chris dropped his gaze from the city and looked back at Derek in some mix of sympathy and calculation, like he was trying to figure something out. "Do you feel like you have a lock on her scent yet?"

Derek thought it over for a moment before he gave the slightest shake of his head.

I raised an eyebrow. Well, I certainly know her scent. She's only flung herself on top of me about _six_ times since we've met. "She smells like clean soap and blistering rage."

Derek looked to me, an unreadable expression on his face as he absorbed this new information about his sister. Chris nodded. "Good," He told me. I didn't have time to fully process his unexpected praise before he turned away. "What about you, Scott? How confident are you in your skills?"

Scott breathed a silent snort and looked away as he considered the question. "Honestly? Most of the time I'm trying hard _not_ to think about all of the things I can smell."

I smirked and turned to Isaac. He looked sort of unsure, like he hadn't expected to be asked, but when I gave him an encouraging expression he opened his mouth.

"Alright," Chris sighed, ruining the moment. I whirled around and scowled at the back of his head. Isaac closed his mouth and lowered his head, taking a step back, and I felt myself ruffle unhappily at the sight. "The problem is when they breach the woods and hit the residential area. Once they're past the high school they're right in the middle of Beacon Hills…"

"They're not gonna… kill everything they see, are they?" Isaac asked as though he already knew the answer but was hoping for good news.

I was glad that Isaac was so used to being overlooked that he could brush off the subtle diss without a problem, but I still wish that the others didn't dismiss him so easily.

Chris turned towards him. "No. But there is an important difference to recognize." He looked at each of us in turn. "Wolves hunt for food, and at a certain point they get full. Boyd and Cora are hunting for the pleasure of the kill. There's some… _primal_ , apex predatory satisfaction that comes from the ripping of warm bodies to bloody shreds. And who knows when that needs gets satiated."

I exchanged a disturbed glance with Isaac and Scott looked on with a sober, dreadful expression as he nodded.

Chris stood in thoughtful silence for another moment before he looked back to us. "You're sure that the school is empty?"

Scott shrugged and looked to us in case we disagreed, but he said that he thought it was. "It has to be, right? Who would be in the school this late?"

"Oh," I raised my eyebrows. "Great! So we're luring two violent, homicidal supernatural predators into our high school on the premise that it's _past everyone's bedtime?"_

Scott looked unhappy and maybe a touch frustrated as he shrugged at me. "Well it's not like there's any way to guarantee! This isn't band practice; we can't just reserve the auditorium for the night!"

I shoved a stressed hand into my hair and Chris turned to me. "How about you go through and make sure there's no one inside while we get things set up?"

Instinctively I looked back at Derek for some reason. I think it's because I'm unused to taking direction from Chris, and maybe I don't fully trust him yet. Derek nodded at me and I looked back to Chris. "I'll double check."

"Good," He nodded, for the second time, and I tried not to let it bother me.

* * *

I started with the locker rooms. It was the closest building, since the field was just at the edge of the woods. While Scott and the others worked to shepherd the betas here, I was tasked with going ahead and giving the property a clean sweep.

The locker rooms were locked, and since I didn't feel like getting charged with vandalism tonight I went around the corner to peek through one of the high windows alongside the showers. There was no noise coming from inside and all the lights were out.

Recalling what Chris had taught us, I gave the air an experimental sniff, but I couldn't detect anything past sweaty gym clothes and laundry soap. There was no trace of a living, warm body inside.

Satisfied, I dropped from the window and quickly made my way over to the fence separating the entrance of the school from the field. My fingers easily wrapped around the chain links and I pulled myself over the tall fence in a matter of seconds, landing silently on the ground on the other side. I looked up to the entrance of the school. The parking lot looked empty, aside from a single car.

I went to the car and cupped my hand over the window to try and see if there was anything that might identify its owner, but I could see nothing left out anywhere. Not even a handful of change in the ashtray, or a gum wrapper on the floor. The car was pristine, and still smelled new. I detected the faintest hint of something sweet, but other than that, there was nothing.

So after I picked the lock of the front doors of the school and propped them open, I searched through the rest of the school and tried pick up any trace of that sweet scent. The courtyard was empty, and so was the cafeteria. There was a scent that could have been what I smelled in the car, but it also could just be a pastry in the kitchens. Inside, the first three hallways I went through were pitch black.

I slowly went over the first floor with a fine-tooth-comb. There was nothing; no one. The only things that saw me creeping around were the cameras up on the walls, or what few remained now that the old principal had finally been back for a few months.

Ms. Morrell's office brought the bitter taste of betrayal to my mouth, and even though it made my nose curl in distaste, I went to test her doorknob. Locked. And inside, I knew it was empty.

Well, that's it. That's everything on the first floor. I'd even checked the band room and auditorium. I guess the only thing left is the second floor, but at this point it's just my paranoia that's keeping me going.

That's the case, at least, until I see a desk lamp still turned on in my English room. The door is left wide open. There are papers stacked across the desk, and I can see from here that there's a travel mug of coffee that's cold but still half full sitting out.

In the trashcan is a discarded salad container. I recognized it as having come from the cafeteria, and though none of this is evidence that the teacher is still in the school, it's also evidence that she stayed at least a few hours tonight. I went into the room and found nothing to cause alarm. There was no purse; there were no keys anywhere. I checked all the drawers, even picking open the locked cabinet by the door to see if she stashed her personal items in there, but it was empty.

The papers on her desk were in neat, clear stacks. The pile on the left was a lot larger, a lot taller and a lot more colorful. Those had been graded. The pile on the right was almost empty, and it must have been the ones she had yet to grade.

The clock told me it was a little past four in the morning. If she stayed late to finish grading papers, then she must be exhausted. There's a chance that she was so tired that she decided to leave and simply forgot to turn her desk lamp off.

And leave her door open. And her coffee mug on the desk.

Okay. My instincts were screaming that she was here, but I'd scoured the whole rest of the building, and checked every single bathroom. Where could she _possibly_ be?

I reached for my phone to call Scott and warn him, but when my fingers brushed my empty pocket I remembered that I didn't _have_ a phone. Then I heard a commotion coming from out the window. My heart was racing as I hurried over to the wall of windows to peer outside.

On the ground below, I saw Isaac dash past. And far off in the distance I heard a howl. I backed away from the window and turned to bolt out of the room and down the hallway. It was still totally silent in the school, and as my heavy footfalls echoed of the walls, I could hear a car horn blaring outside. I picked up the pace and strained my ears to listen for the betas finally tearing through the first set of doors downstairs.

I bounded down the steps just in time to see Derek in front of me, facing the exit in a slight crouch with his teeth bared and his claws out. I followed his line of vision to see the betas snarling at him near the threshold of the school.

Derek growled at them antagonistically, and they backed away. For a moment I thought they would go back the way they came, but then Boyd reached up and grabbed ahold of the top of the door frame, pulling himself up and out of sight, and I realized that they were going to actually scale the building rather than face Derek in a fight.

Derek turned to look at me and for a moment we both stood stock-still while we processed what the hell the betas were trying to do. Then, I didn't say a word as I turned to scramble towards the rear doors.

"Savannah!" Derek called.

I didn't turn around or hesitate as I flew past Chris and Scott, looking up at the top of the building to see if I could catch a glimpse of either of them. I couldn't see them but I could hear them as they leapt across the roof, snarling and panting.

When I reached the back of the school I skidded to a stop just as they dropped on the ground. A flash of light exploded on the cement in front of them before they could so much as take a step forward, and Boyd and Cora threw their hands up to shield their eyes from the assaulting burst of light.

Allison was pacing on top of a bus, firing the arrows down to herd the betas back to the school. I was so surprised to see her that for a moment I didn't move. Isaac was suddenly at my shoulder, and he looked up at Allison in confusion, but neither of us said a word as she continued firing arrows with military-like precision.

Isaac and I went to prop the doors open and the betas charged past us without a backwards glance, fleeing the loud and bright explosions behind them. Isaac slammed his door shut beside me and we took a moment to pant and stare at each other.

We glanced over our shoulders, but Allison was already gone. I looked down and helped Isaac twist the crowbar around the handles to lock the betas inside.

"So," Isaac panted, leaning against the doors for a moment. He wiped at his brow with the back of his hand. "Is there anyone inside?"

"Actually," I breathed. "I think the new English teacher might be somewhere in the school."

Isaac jerked in surprise and pushed off the wall to gape at me. "Seriously!?"

"Yeah!" I nodded. "There's a car in the parking lot and the lights in her room are on. Her door was open, and I think she might have been grading papers?"

"We have to tell Scott!" Isaac exclaimed, grabbing my elbow to haul me along behind him. He was admittedly faster than me, and I'm certain that it has everything to do with his spidery legs.

But when we got to the front of the school where we'd left him, he was nowhere to be seen.

"Shit!" I cursed, and Isaac's head darted all around the immediate area to look for him. "Did they go inside?"

"Come on!" Isaac didn't wait for me as he led the way inside, and I glanced back at the car that was still parked in the parking lot before I followed him inside.

The school was still dark, but it was no longer silent. There was a loud commotion coming from just down the hall, right outside the door to the courtyard.

We scrambled to follow the sound but by the time we reached the end of the hall we still hadn't found them. Isaac looked at me in confusion and I threw my hands up uselessly. It seems like we're six steps behind them, no matter where we go.

There was a crash as someone ran into a locker, coming from further down a hall towards the ramp that Lydia and I had been handcuffed to. My boots thudded heavily across the ground as I bounded down the ramp and skidded to a stop. The door to the boiler room was wide open, and I heard another crash come from down the stairs.

I stopped at the top of the stairwell and peeked inside. Isaac peeked over my shoulder, and I turned to see Chris behind him. I hadn't noticed him following us, so I was surprised to see him standing there out of breath. He nodded at me and I turned back to the boiler room, straining my ears and holding my breath as I listened for any sign of what was going on inside.

I heard plenty of growling, and for a long moment nothing happened. My heart was beating dizzyingly fast in my chest. Adrenaline pumped thickly through my veins, and I thought I was about to pass out from the tension of it all. Then, just before I suggested going down there myself, I heard the sound of something being sprayed and the betas roaring in surprise.

I pushed Isaac and Chris back from the door at the top of the stairs just as the giant metal door at the bottom burst open and Scott popped out, followed closely by Derek. Derek barely came through the doorway before he crashed his shoulder against it to hold it shut and slammed the lock into place.

We all held our breath and I braced to throw myself down the stairs and into the fold if either beta was able to tear through the door. But a crash never came. Aside from our frantic breathing and thudding hearts, there was no struggle against the door. Nothing.

I cautiously let out a relieved sigh.

"Did that actually just work?" Scott asked Derek where he still braced his body against the door. Derek held still as he listened inside and hesitated before nodding.

"It worked," He confirmed with a breathy laugh, and I felt myself grinning widely at Derek's rare display of relief. Isaac laughed beside me and I turned to thank Chris, but quickly realized he was gone.

I backed up to look up and down the hallway, but Chris was nowhere to be found. "Chris?" I called. The hallway was empty. There wasn't even a door swinging from his swift exit. "Argent?" I called, louder this time.

Isaac was peering down the hall curiously at me. I put my hands up uselessly.

"Where did he go?" I wanted to know, and Isaac shook his head.

"I didn't realize he left."

Suspicion crept in then, and I tried to remind myself that he just _helped_ us capture Cora and Boyd. There was no reason to question him now, after they're contained. And all because of him. Still. He could have at least waited for us to thank him.

I started back to Isaac and he reminded me about the teacher. I patted his back and hurried past him, intending to tell Scott that there might still be someone in the school somewhere and if there is we'll have some serious bullshitting to do.

But when I looked down the stairs, I only found Scott. Where's Derek? Scott held the door tightly with his ear pressed up against it, as if he was ensuring that the lock held and what was inside didn't get out. I looked back at Isaac and he seemed just as confused as me. From in the boiler room, I heard a loud snarl.

Then I whirled back around and hollered down to Scott in a panic. His head snapped up and he peered at me guiltily, but didn't budge from the door.

I scrambled down the steps, my feet fumbling slightly, and I didn't even stop to correct myself as I tripped down the last three stairs and fell on my butt. "No!" I cried, and pushed myself off the cement stairs to lunge for the door.

"Savannah, stop!" Scott told me, pushing me away with his elbow but not letting go of his position on the door. I yelled something nasty at him and he exclaimed, "There's someone else in there!"

"No shit!" I snapped back. "Derek's in there—are you fucking _crazy?"_

"No—there's someone else! There's someone else in there, Derek's trying to save them!"

"Get the fuck out of my way, McCall," I snarled and before I could actually attack him Isaac had his hands around my arms to yank me back. I kicked against him and screamed at him to let me go, my panic only intensifying when I heard the sound of Derek's desperate roar over the betas inside the boiler room. It seemed like his howl went on forever, until it abruptly died down, and then there was the briefest moment of silence. I was frozen with dread and I felt my mouth open in horror when the snarls and roars started up again, this time without so much as a growl from Derek. He was silent. I heard an eager screech, and then the distinct sound of claws tearing through muscle, and I thrashed hard against Isaac, unable to comprehend how they could just _stand_ there while that's happening only a matter of feet away.

"Savannah, the English teacher!" Isaac reminded me. I froze for half a second, but it was just long enough for Isaac to restrain me tightly against the wall with my hands twisted behind my back in such a way that, if I struggled, it made my joints feel close to snapping. "I don't want to do this! You're _making_ me do this," Isaac drawled, sounding miserable because I know he could hear the fight happening inside too. But no, it wasn't even a fight, was it? It was _murder_. Derek's slaughter—and we could _hear_ it happening, and I was helpless to stop it. "I don't want to have to do this!"

I could hear the sound of their claws shredding into his flesh, relentlessly slashing and showing no signs of slowing. And still, Derek didn't make a single noise.

In my ear, I heard Isaac mutter something, but it didn't register until he repeated it again, louder. "The sun!" He exclaimed. His grip slackened and I quickly took advantage of it to shove him off of me. Isaac's back smacked against the wall behind him but it didn't even faze him as he pointed up the stairs to where the door was still wide open. And the sun was crawling down the steps, quickly illuminating the stairwell.

It happened so fast that I actually had to shield my eyes and I turned away as Scott let off the door. I waited impatiently for him to pull the lock back, and shoved him out of the way as I pushed through the door.

The boiler room was illuminated with sunlight, though deep shadows still made for a dim room, and it reeked of blood and rust. I flew down the steps without even knowing where I was going, I just moved towards the smell of Derek's blood, toward the sound of the betas vicious snarls.

When I barreled out of the stairwell, I skidded to a stop and was shocked into place. An overwhelming mixture of relief and sorrow crashed over me, and actually knocked me back a step. Derek was on his knees on the ground, his hands limply at his side and head hung. At either side of him, Boyd and Cora lay crumpled on the ground. His shirt was shredded, confirming what my ears told me happened. Blood soaked the claw marks and dripped from his face onto the cement floor.

Isaac and Scott scrambled down the steps after me and they were frozen with shock at the sight before us too. A moment passed where none of us moved. Finally, Derek's head weakly lifted.

He was so exhausted that he struggled to keep his head up or his eyes open, and he panted so openly that it occurred to me I had never seen him look so defeated.

He finally managed to find enough strength to lift his head and he looked up at his with his eyebrows scrunched, not in his usual aggression, but in pain, and he let out a breath of relief.

And then he closed his eyes and his head drooped again as he shakily panted. "There's a teacher," He gasped, his voice quaking. He opened his mouth to continue but was cut off by me tackling him.

Derek was knocked backwards and he would have fallen, had I not held him up in a death grip with my hands wrapped around the top of his arms. His head threatened to lull back and he gave me that familiar glare as I grabbed his face in my hands and looked him over. I didn't know how to express the relief I felt that he was alive, or the intense grief I lived through just seconds ago in that stairwell when I thought he actually _sacrificed_ himself. But I know that my unexpected display of affection was probably explanation enough, and I looked up at him with my hands still trembling as I held his face tightly between my hands.

He wore an intense, baffled frown and took in my concern with open bewilderment. I threw my arms around him and gave him a quick, rough squeeze, and Derek's hand barely had time to pat my back before I shoved him away and whacked the back of his head as hard as I dared.

He ducked away in shock and gaped at me, his jaw dropped. "You stupid _jerk!_ Don't ever, _ever_ do anything that _stupid_ ever again or I swear to God I'll fucking _end_ you! Do you hear me?"

Derek was at a loss for words as he stared down at me, and I lightly pushed his shoulder again for good measure.

"Fucking prick," I snarled, and Derek looked up at Scott and Isaac in question. They were equally as stumped and then Scott started laughing at me.

He clapped his hand over his mouth when it registered that it may have been inappropriate to laugh. Isaac was grinning too and I looked back at Derek, still quietly fuming.

Derek was fatigued and he chose to ignore my threat as he redirected the conversation to more comfortable ground. With a heavy sigh, he told us with voice like sandpaper to get the other two out of here.

I shook my head when I realized that Derek intended to try and walk out on his own, and he rolled his eyes over to me. "Savannah," He breathed. "Please take my sister out of here."

There was an undeniable vulnerability laced in the simple request he gave me, and I suddenly understood that he needed me to take care of Cora in this moment. After what Derek just went through, I'm sure the last thing he wants is for something to happen to either of them, because it would all have been for naught.

I nodded and moved to lift Cora from the ground, leaving Boyd to Scott and Isaac. They had to tag team Boyd, he was so heavy, and I could manage to carry Cora over my shoulder. I waited for Isaac and Scott to lead the way up the steps with Boyd, and before I left I turned back to Derek.

He was still taking the moment to catch his breath. As Isaac and Scott ascended the steps, Derek slid one foot out until he was only kneeling on one knee. He pushed against his knee and lifted himself to his feet. When he was standing without swaying, he looked up at me. I could tell by the look on his face that he was still shocked at how deeply I was affected just a minute ago, and he looked slightly unsure of himself as he nodded at me.

Content that he wouldn't collapse as soon as I turned my back, I went to follow the boys upstairs with Derek's sister slung over my shoulder.

* * *

I didn't realize how much I missed Stiles until I saw him standing in the morgue. After we dropped Boyd and Cora off at Derek's apartment, Scott seemed like he was itching to comment about what happened in the boiler room. He started to justify his actions to me on the walk to the hospital but I'd simply put my hand up and shook my head. Scott, reproached, put his head down and continued alongside me.

And now, as I push through the doors of the morgue and see Stiles standing in front of a body covered by a sheet, I am comforted beyond words to see his grey hoodie and white and black Adidas shoes.

I think Stiles was just as relieved to see me, and when he caught sight of my expression he didn't even ask. He just welcomed me with open arms and frowned at Scott behind my back while he held me for a brief moment. I felt him turn his nose into the crook of my shoulder and when I opened my eyes, I felt wetness on my cheeks.

It was too much. Everything that's been happening has culminated in this moment—from my brother, to Brooke, to Derek's brush with death—I'd finally spilled over. I didn't let go of Stiles as I stood on my tiptoes and reached my hands around him to scrub at my tears. It looked like I was just tightening the embrace, and Stiles responded in kind. But I couldn't let them see me cry. Not now. Not yet.

So as I pulled away, I let out a sigh and gave them a weak smile that probably didn't quite reach my eyes. Stiles looked down at the body on the table, and without explaining a thing, he wordlessly pulled the sheet back from the head.

A pale girl, with blonde hair and the sort of complexion that only comes with death lay with her head turned to the side and her eyes closed. There was a deep laceration across the front of her neck—a clean cut. I don't know what I was expecting to see, but this was certainly not it. The back of her head was dark and matted, and if I really wanted to take a closer look I knew I would see all the brain matter and a gaping hole where skull should be.

I stepped away with a thick swallow. "There's no way Boyd and Cora did that." I shook my head, thinking back to the jagged slashes across Derek's chest and neck.

Scott nodded. "That's good though, right? That means that they didn't actually kill anyone."

Stiles wasn't so sure. He tilted his head and said, "Well… I can't be sure, but there is something that I think might connect them."

I realized then that he was talking about the other body in the room, and I frowned and wondered who it was.

"Besides the way they were killed—strangled with a blow to the back of the head and their neck slit open—when I was at the pool I noticed that the lifeguard was wearing a purity ring," Stiles told us, looking down at Heather. "And she's a virgin, too."

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "And how do you know that?"

Stiles glanced warily at Scott, who was giving him a stern glare. Stiles cleared his throat with an audible sigh. "Ah, well… when I didn't show up to her party, she sort of drunk texted me some stuff. Let's just say that she _really_ wanted me to come."

And even though I already knew the answer, I crossed my arms and put my hip out, glaring down at the girl's corpse very briefly and not feeling sorry about it in the least. "Why?"

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. "She said she didn't want to be a seventeen year old virgin."

I scoffed and squared my shoulders, and Scott let out a huffy laugh. "Relax, Savannah, she's _dead_. No threat there."

Guiltily, I dropped my hostile stance and ground my teeth for a moment. "So… the connection is that they're both virgins? Don't you think that's a bit of a stretch?"

Stiles frowned. "Well, maybe, but… and, I'm sorry if this is super presumptuous but… isn't _Brooke_ a virgin too?"

I felt time stop for the second time that night. I don't think my heart can take very many more jolts like this; I might die from the shock. "What are you saying?" My voice was quiet, dangerous.

Stiles wasn't affected by it. "I'm just— _saying_ —it's a pretty big coincidence, don't you think?"

"Well I didn't before now!" I cried, and Scott was just as fretful as I was.

Stiles tried to make calming gestures. "I'm not trying to…" He trailed off, at a loss.

"Trying to _what?"_ I challenged, taking a step forward with my fists at my side. "You have no idea what we went through tonight!"

Stiles' train of thought was derailed, as he turned to Scott in question. Scott simply shook his head as if to say they'd talk later, and Stiles turned back to me to try and calm me down.

"Savannah, I want to find her!" He insisted. "I do! And I know this sucks to think about, but if we can figure out who's doing this and why, then we'll be that much closer to figuring out where she went!"

"She was kidnapped!" I yelled, making Stiles and Scott both shrink back. "That's what happened, okay? And now, your dad is probably gonna find her somewhere with her throat cut and—"

"Savannah," Scott interrupted, and I whirled on him.

" _What?"_ I screeched.

"Guys…" Melissa was at the door, her eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. She must have come inside just as I was going off, and it clearly gave her pause. "Don't you have a friend named Brooklyn?"

I blinked dumbly. "Brooke," We chorused.

"Well I think she just came in through the emergency room."

"What?" Scott and Stiles simultaneously exclaimed. "Where was she found?"

"Is she alive?" I asked.

"Alive?" Melissa looked at all of us with a strange expression. "Oh, yeah. She's alive. She just walked in here on her own."

" _What?"_

"Show me!" I urged, rushing forward to take Melissa by the shoulders. "Show me now!"

* * *

 ** _Bum, bum, BUMMM! *Camera zooms way in to my face and holds for a beat before the scene cuts out dramatically.*_**


	69. Klexos

**Klexos:**

Dwelling on the past. The way we remember past experiences differently over time by reexamining them and allowing new context to enrich and fill out the picture. So that you can look fairly at a painful experience and call it by its name…

"Maybe we should think of memory as a work of art—and a work of art is never finished, only abandoned."

\- _The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows_

* * *

"Okay," Melissa said, keeping us close to her in a huddle near the end of a hallway on the third floor. "You guys have about fifteen minutes before the next rounds start. Once the next nurse comes through, I can't guarantee that you'll be able to stay."

I was itching to just _go_ already, but Scott and Stiles listened to Melissa's warnings intently. They're more experienced at… _situations_ like this than I am, so I followed their lead and half listened, half stared at the door of Brooke's room.

"So we have fifteen minutes to talk to her and find out what happened?" Stiles asked.

Melissa looked apologetic. "I'm sorry," She said with a shake of her head. "But it's the best I can do."

Scott touched her shoulder. "It's okay mom, we can't ask you for more. You're not even supposed to be doing _this_."

She gave her son a thankful smile for a moment and then quickly reached out to give our shoulders an encouraging push. "Go!" She quietly called, but I was already at the handle and pushing into the room.

It was dim inside. Not all of the lights were on—only the ones along the wall behind her bed. There was nothing personal near her; no flowers, teddy bears or cards. A tray of food lay pushed aside on the overbed table and appeared mostly untouched save for the cup of jello that Brooke held in her hands. Her spoon was in her mouth and she stared at us like a deer in headlights, apparently beyond shocked to see us there.

"Savannah! Guys!" She happily exclaimed, though sounding vaguely unsure of herself. "What are you doing here?"

"What are _we_ doing here?" I balked, rushing to her side. She put the jello cup down and I threw my hands out at her in disbelief. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"We thought you were made a human sacrifice!" Stiles loudly proclaimed, and the room fell into stunned silence. Brooke looked intensely confused and turned her eyes to me to clarify. Before I could speak, Stiles seemed to realize that he had said something slightly insensitive, so he tried to make it less weird. Keyword: _tried_. "No, but just because you're a virgin."

This time when Brooke looked back at me, she was significantly more horrified. I felt my jaw drop and couldn't even begin to describe the emotions vibrating through me. Relief, disbelief, shock, outrage (at Stiles), embarrassment, regret, relief. The silence had stretched on for a few more seconds and I vehemently shook my head. " _He_ thought that! He thought of it! I didn't think that."

"Me, neither," Scott quickly added with his finger in the air, and then shrank back at the dirty look that Stiles threw him. Stiles seemed outraged that we threw him under the bus, and I chose to ignore it for now.

Brooke was completely confused as she shook her head. "Well, I wasn't."

"Obviously," Stiles cut in, but Brooke continued as if he wasn't even there.

"At least I don't think so," She paused and frowned thoughtfully, a mild look of horror crossing her face. " _God_ I hope not…"

"What do you mean?" I asked. "What happened?"

Brooke gave a frustrated shrug and snatched her jello cup up like it was the only thing that could soothe her. "I don't know!"

"What do you _mean?"_ I asked again, and Scott and Stiles exchanged an expression of dread behind me.

Brooke gave a woeful sigh around her spoonful of jello, and swallowed before responding. "I can't remember!"

"You can't remember?" I shook my head. "What, like amnesia?"

"Yeah!" Brooke agreed, much to my surprise, and I quieted as I tried to process this information. "It's all a big fat _blank_."

"What about injuries?" Scott asked. "I mean, you're in the hospital. Why did you come here? Are you hurt?"

I took a second to look her over. She smelled like—as strange as it sounds—dirt and mildew, and maybe a bit like a sewer. And the skin on her arms and part of her neck had a very thin coat of grey, like she had rolled around in soil or ashes. "I had to get staples in the back of my head," She told us, touching a spot near the crown of her head with a wince. She reached farther down to scratch at something and started to say more, but I grabbed her and pulled her forward to look for myself.

Scott and Stiles leaned in closely to look with me. At the top of her head was what looked like a bit of a gaping wound with four reflective metal staples down the center. It may have started to heal before the staples were in, if the large, festering torn scab was anything to go by, and I wondered about infection and how her hair would ever grow right again.

 _—strangled with a blow to the back of the head and their necks slit open. With a blow to the back of the head—a blow to the back of the head—back of the head—_

Stiles, Scott and I shared a meaningful look, each of us quietly conveying a certain degree of trepidation and doom.

But I'm not trying to freak her out. I shook my head to the boys and I whistled lowly as I pulled back, my face revealing no trace of what we just found. "Did they give you anything for that?"

She gave a definitive nod and as she blinked I finally realized that her pupils were significantly dilated; the only sign that she was under the influence of drugs at all. I found it extremely amusing that sober-Brooke and Brooke-on-pain-meds behaved so similarly that even _I_ couldn't tell a difference until I was looking for it.

"Don't ask me what it's called," She said with her hands up, her lime jello quivering slightly. "I just know that it's making everything feel like a dream and I don't fully register things until a few seconds after they happen."

I grinned because I knew exactly what she meant, but Stiles and Scott were surprisingly quiet. They stood broodily behind me, like they wanted to discuss her injuries further and possibly even ask her some things that would do nothing but worry her and make it impossible for her to rest. And she needed rest right now.

"Guys," I said to them. "We should go before the doctors come for rounds."

"Wait," Brooke pled, her hand suddenly latching onto my arm with surprising strength. She didn't even attempt to disguise her vulnerability as she peered up at me. "Don't leave."

I think my heart might have solidified into stone and crumbled to dust in my chest. The guilt that weighed so heavily on me the past few days made it impossible to tell her no. So, turning back to Stiles and Scott with an apologetic expression, I told them once again to leave.

"Do you need anything?" Scott asked Brooke as Stiles led the way to the door. "Anything at all?"

Brooke smiled gently at him, almost shyly, and spared me a fleeting glance. "I've got everything I need now."

 _Fuck_. I will not cry. I will not cry. I am the worst person alive. I am the most—

Even Scott was touched at how fiercely Brooke cared for me; how readily she forgave me, like she was never mad in the first place. He couldn't help but smile back at her and nodded. "Well then I'll just go buy you some chocolates or something."

Brooke practically melted. "You really don't have to! I don't know if they'll let me have any anyways…"

"They can get the fuck over it," I angrily said through clenched teeth, and Stiles snorted at me near the door. "If that's what you want, then you _deserve_ a piece of chocolate."

Brooke gave an indulgent shrug. "I mean, if you insist."

Scott laughed and nodded. "It's already on the way."

Before they left, Stiles hurried back to give me a quick kiss and then darted out the door after Scott to sneak down the hallway like they'd never been here. When I turned back Brooke was beaming at me, her face full of glee. "Dang it! I just love you two so much!" She gushed, and I felt my eye twitch.

"Finish your jello," I told her in a flat voice as I went to retrieve the chair that was pushed against the wall. She watched me pull it closer and obediently continued eating. "So you really can't remember anything?"

She frowned down at the bright green dessert, a strange expression crossing her face. "No, I… It's actually really scary, like… I can remember getting into my car Friday morning. It was still early out and I decided to leave a few minutes before I normally would because I didn't know the way to school from our new house. But… then the next thing I remember is standing outside the emergency room. It didn't make any sense because I had no idea how I got there and somehow it was _night_ outside and I was so confused, and I was shaking but I wasn't cold—I went inside because I didn't know what else to do, and I was just about to ask a nurse what time it was when I guess I just kinda… passed out."

"You don't remember your car breaking down?" I asked, and Brooke looked alarmed at the news and she quickly shook her head.

" _No!_ What do you mean, what happened to my car?"

The reality of the scope of her memory loss hit me then, and I had to sit back in the chair for a moment to try and digest it all. Brooke waited impatiently for me to respond but I honestly didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure how much I should tell her—I know Sheriff will need to talk to her to get a statement and I don't want to plant any ideas in her head. Should I tell her what I knew? Would it only scare her?

But she deserves to know. She should know what happened to her, where she was when she went missing for _four_ days straight. And I know more than even the Sheriff knows; I know my brother took her. I know he had her for at least some length of time! He admitted it to me. He said that he took her as bait for me. But then why did she turn up outside the hospital, largely unharmed? And how did she get there?

"Savannah, _please_ ," She implored, apparently seeing that I was on the verge of deciding not to tell her anything at all. "I have to know! If I don't know I'll go crazy!"

So I told her. I told her what I knew, and even though I hated every second of it, I admitted to her how long it took before I even noticed she was missing. I told her about her parents at the police station, and how she'd been plastered all over the news since that morning. I told her about the alpha pack, and my brother and the betas. I told her about the missing girls and the sacrifices. I even told her about the boiler room and how close Derek came to dying. I felt sick with guilt, and by the end of it, I couldn't even stand to look her in the eyes.

I stood up and went to the window on the other side of the room, staring out the window without actually seeing anything. "Oh my god, Savannah, I'm _so_ sorry," Brooke sounded tortured.

I turned to her in disbelief. Unable to even form a coherent response, I gaped at her as she continued, her face a twisted mask of pain.

"I can't believe I wasn't there for you! Your _brother_ —I mean—he's _alive?_ How is that even possible? And then Derek and all the rest of it, Jesus! And my parents—" she wailed, covering her face in shame. " _God_ , my parents, I'm so sorry you had to deal with them!"

I quickly went to grab her free hand between my own. "Brooke, stop," I tried, but she continued as if I hadn't spoken.

"God! They're so—I don't even know the words! You were just trying to help and my mom was _awful_ , she was horrible to you!"

Disgusted, I dropped her hand and pushed away. "Why are you _acting_ like this?" I suddenly asked, and she stared up at me with wide eyes. "You should be pissed! I'm a terrible friend! I'm the worst! I should have been there for you, not the other way around—Brooke, you were _missing!_ You were with—the _alpha pack_ ; they're so dangerous it makes me sick to think what they could have done to you, and I still don't understand how or why they sent you back here and it _terrifies_ me because there's got to be more coming! It can't be over! Don't you get it?" I shook my head at her stunned expression. "They could have killed you and it was my fault!"

She laughed then. I was confused, my shame and anger at myself so intense that her sudden laughter literally did not compute in my mind. I stared openly at her and she simply shook her head at me with an exasperated expression. "Savannah you can be so _dumb_ , did you know that?"

My mouth gawped uselessly, proving her point in that moment.

Brooke only laughed again. "It's my fault you're like this, isn't it? Because of what I said about Erica and Boyd?" Speechless; I was completely speechless, and I couldn't think straight enough to respond. "Savannah, I was joking! It was a stupid thing to say but I didn't mean it! I'm not _mad_ at you, don't be ridiculous!"

I looked down at my feet and tried to make sense of how she could be so readily forgiving. One thing I know for certain: I don't deserve her friendship. Not even in the slightest. I wondered how long it would take her to realize that. "Well, sorry." I hated saying it because it wasn't nearly enough. "I… I'm sorry."

"Shut up and give me a hug, please," She told me with her arms up expectantly. I gave her a funny look and she made impatient grabbing motions with her hands, actually bouncing on the bed like a child.

Slowly, and mechanically, I went to her and gave her a rigid hug. My back was stiff and my arms were fraught with tension, my head turned to the side with a bewildered look glued to my face. Brooke didn't even seem to care; she hugged me warmly like I was best thing in the world.

"It's like hugging a robot," She declared with a giggle, and I felt my lips twitch marginally from their deep grimace. Hesitantly, I patted her shoulder, and told her that she needed a shower. Her slender hand smacked by back and she shoved me away. "Shut up!" She gave me a dirty look. "You smell like a sweaty gym bag."

She huffily crossed her arms and before I could even snort the door opened and a nurse strode through the door with his nose in a clipboard.

"Alright, Brooke, looks like it's time for a second—" He broke off when he saw me and dropped the clipboard to his side. "Hey! How did you get in here?"

"I walked," I smartly responded, and he bristled in annoyance.

"Well then you can _walk_ back out the way you came!" He loudly declared, his finger pointing angrily at the door. "Visiting hours are over! Family only!"

"Bill," Brooke suddenly pouted. "Come on. Can't you make an exception?"

Bill vehemently shook his head. "Oh no!" He went to try and shoo me from the bed. I simply leaned away from him like he was an annoying fly buzzing around. "I already snuck you three jello cups! That's enough favors for one night—"

"Bill!" She whined. "Come on, she's like a sister! That's family, right?"

He gave her a rueful grin and shook his head. "No, honey." Bill fluttered the clipboard at me and made shooing noises. "Either you can leave voluntarily or I can have you escorted," He told me, apparently growing tired of the complete lack of respect I showed. I stiffened at the threat and he raised his eyebrows challengingly. Bill put his hands on his hips. "Take your pick!"

"Fine," I bit, standing from the bed with a huff. I looked down at Brooke. "I'll be back later."

Bill finally took me by the shoulders to guide me towards the door. "Between the hours of 10 AM and 8 PM," He informed me and the nurses behind the station, if it wasn't already clear enough. "Until then, the waiting room is through that door and around the corner."

I rolled my eyes and he closed the door in my face with an unaffected smile.

* * *

Stiles and I went home after that. Scott had already left with his mom, but Stiles waited behind so we could drive together. And I think he also just wanted to hold my hand. We didn't talk a lot about what we'd each experienced in our time apart; we just took comfort in each other's presence.

And when we got home, Sheriff was waiting with a box of room temperature pizza and a lecture. Both of us were late. _Very_ late. Inexcusably late, he'd said. He told us to do our homework, and when we complained that we were drained, he said that we had no one to blame for that but ourselves. If we were going to stay out until the crack of dawn we would suffer the consequences. And maybe, next time something like this is about to happen, we'll think twice about disobeying the town's curfew.

Once he was done with his lecture he informed us that there was another dead teen found in the woods last night. He didn't have to elaborate for us to know that whoever she'd been, she was killed in the same manner as Heather and the lifeguard. Selfishly, I was glad that it had been another girl who was sacrificed, and not Brooke.

As if on the exact same train of thought Sheriff switched gears and wanted an update on Brooke's condition. He listened until I was finished and then he went to grab his coat, gun and badge, and he left for the hospital without another word. I'm worried about him. Stiles and I both are.

Of course I didn't actually _do_ my homework. Ain't nobody got time for that! I grabbed a slice of pizza and went to the couch to finally rest my aching joints, and by the time my butt hit the cushion I fell asleep with the plate still in my lap and the pizza untouched.

And the next morning at the hospital, Isaac, Scott and Stiles were shocked at Brooke's parents.

It was just past eight o'clock, and we were headed through the hallway towards her room when we caught sight of her mom in front of a news camera near the waiting room. _Yes_. A news camera, along with a gaggle of reporters, each one hoping to be one of the first with the latest scoop on the missing girl. The rash of disappearances had garnered a frenzy of media attention across the state—but Brooke's in particular was broadcast the loudest.

After all, Brooke was the teenaged girl of distraught affluent parents, who were desperately pleading with the cameras every day since they learned of her disappearance for her safe return. And now she's back, and they're still out here stuck in front of the cameras.

We had to stop and listen. It was like watching a car crash—we couldn't look away. Her mom seemed to be crying in relief but I could see no tears. Her dad was the perfect picture of strength, at his wife's side with a stoic expression and smooth, measured replies for any and all questions posed to them.

I turned away with a lingering sense of disgust pooling in my stomach. The boys followed, confounded by what they'd seen. Isaac wanted to know why they weren't inside with Brooke, but none of us had any answers for him.

When Brooke saw the box of chocolates and teddy bear in Scott's hands she was practically vibrating with excitement and cooed over him for a good three minutes. He tried to tell her it was from all of us, but I'm pretty sure she didn't hear.

"Um," Isaac awkwardly added. "Here." A sparse bouquet of colorful tulips seemed to evoke the opposite reaction that Scott's box of chocolates had just seconds ago. Brooke was quiet, reverent almost as she took the proffered flowers from Isaac.

I found it interesting that she turned about ten shades of red and could hardly look Isaac in the face after that, and all at once it passed and she was bouncing around again. "I don't have a vase," She lamented, and I pointed at her pitcher of water. She perked up and quickly refilled her cup before she deposited the flowers into the pitcher with a happy sigh. Then, she turned to us.

She didn't even get the chance to speak because Bill was coming back through the door with a doctor at his side. They seemed surprised to see us there. Well—they did, at least, until Bill spotted me. His face smoothed into distaste and he sighed as he explained to the doctor that we were her friends.

"Wow," the doctor smiled, his wrinkled face showing how handsome he must have been in his youth with the way it lit up his eyes. "That's pretty special. A roomful of teenagers who made a trip over before school! That means you had to get up early, doesn't it?"

We all nodded and gave indifferent shrugs. By now, we were used to running on little to no sleep. Still, the doctor acted like it was an extremely commendable gesture for us to make, and I didn't personally get why it was such a big deal. Our friend is in the hospital. Of course we would come visit. I probably wouldn't have even left had it not been for Buffalo Bill over there.

"Well," The doctor turned to Brooke. "I recommended to your parents that you stay here for the rest of the day so we could monitor you for any changes. They agreed, but if you're feeling up to it, you can leave tonight if you want."

Brooke seemed confused, if a little brokenhearted. "My… My parents are here?"

There was a collective pause. The doctor had his hand in his coat pocket, his fingers stilled over the pen he'd been reaching for, and he tried to play it off with a smooth recovery as he clicked the pen cheerily. "Oh yes! They've been hounding me with questions about your condition. I thought they were going to ask for someone with more experience until they realized I've been here in this hospital longer than anyone else on staff," He finished with a laugh, Bill laughed along like nothing was wrong with this picture.

Brooke looked positively distraught as she offered them a weak smile. "That sounds familiar," She acknowledged. "I'm glad they're worried enough to ask."

The doctor awkwardly cleared his throat, his smile strained. "Yes."

And then he told her a few more things—she was allowed to return to eating anything she wanted, so long as it comes from somewhere in the hospital. And yes, that includes the jello he knows Bill has been sneaking her. And then there was a little more about her various medications, including a change in dosage of something called Lexapro, and after that they left.

Isaac was the first to speak, and he just asked her straight up. "Your parents haven't been in to see you at all?"

Any trace of the hurt we'd seen on her face was vanished, replaced by an overly amused roll of her eyes. "Oh, I'm used to it! They're so busy with…" She trailed off as she tried to think of what could be keeping them busy. Quickly, she cleared her throat and plastered a shockingly convincing grin across her face. "I'm sure I'll see them soon. My mom has to bring me some clothes before I leave; there's no way she'll let me walk out looking like I did when I walked in!"

She was the only one who laughed at that. When she took in all of our disturbed expressions, she waved us off.

"Oh, come on you guys! Lighten up! _I_ was the one kidnapped, remember? I'm the one with amnesia here."

"Your parents suck," I bluntly informed her, and she quietly chuckled while the others nodded in agreement.

"I know."

We visited for just a little while longer. Brooke told the others an edited version of what she'd told me last night—she remembered getting in her car and starting the drive to school, and then it was like she blinked and she was outside the emergency room.

Isaac suggested that they had taken her memories, for whatever reason. Stiles hypothesized that whatever happened, she'd seen too much. We all realized, without saying it aloud, that Brooke was lucky to have gotten out with her life. She should be thankful all they took were her memories.

I promised that I would be back tonight, sometime after school. I couldn't give her an exact time but if I get here and she's already gone then I would have the Sheriff take me to her new house.

* * *

"Carmichael, really?" Coach Finstock sounded surprised and mildly impressed to see me out on the trails that morning with the rest of the cross-country team.

"What?" I challenged, stretching my foot to the back of my thigh as I balanced on one leg. "You think I can't run?"

"Well," He breathily laughed with his eyebrows raised. Finstock seemed to realize it was an extremely rude thing to say—because I knew _why_ he was saying it. I used to have a limp. This time last year, no _way_ would I be on any sport at all, let alone cross country. He loudly coughed to clear his throat and surreptitiously wipe the smirk from his face. "Good to have you on the team."

"Yeah," I dryly accepted as he quickly extracted himself from the situation by pretending to go yell at Greenberg. After he walked stalked away I rolled my eyes at Scott. "Yep," I told him. "Still a douche."

Scott grinned widely after he laughed. "Was there ever any doubt?"

I shook my head no and bent to grab the back of my ankles, the best way I knew to stretch my leg muscles out completely. "Stiles." I looked at him from between my legs where he stood behind me, his eyes glued to my ass as he openly watched me stretch. "Maybe you should stretch too."

"No way I can do that," He quickly shook his head and I laughed at the mental image of Stiles bent over with his chin touching his knees. "You know anything that _wouldn't_ almost rip my balls apart?"

Scott and I loudly laughed at him, and as I went to show him some less aggressive stretches to do before running, Scott called Isaac's name.

I turned to see Isaac rising from the ground where he'd been tying his shoes, a dazed expression on his face as he stared off in the distance at something. I followed his gaze and saw nothing but a crowd of kids in dri-fit shirts and sweatpants. Isaac turned around to look at Scott just as Coach blew the whistle. "It's them," He told Scott before he broke into a dead sprint in pursuit of two similarly dressed identical twins.

" _Them_ them?" I loudly asked Scott, and he shrugged frantically at me while Coach screamed at Isaac to pace himself.

"I guess!" He took off after Isaac and Stiles belatedly whined behind me as I left him without a backwards glance, chasing after them. I wove through the pack of students, sidestepping and twirling around people until I was finally caught up with Scott.

Remember when I said Isaac was faster than me? Well, the twins are faster than _him_. Scott and I were gaining on them pretty quickly, our speed evenly matched, and my heart thrummed excitedly in my chest at the feeling of flat out sprinting ahead of everyone else. Don't get me wrong; I'm worried about Isaac and I hope he doesn't go try to do something stupid, but I'm also loving the chill of the morning air through my hair.

The dirt slid just slightly under my shoes with every step I took. We finally broke through the trees and came around a bend in the trail. The rest of the class was way behind us.

We finally caught up to them just as Isaac was tackled to the ground. They had him on his knees and one of them forced him to hold still as the other held Isaac's arm out and prepared to break it. The sight gave Scott a little burst of speed, and he was able to pull ahead and take one of the twins off of Isaac's arm with a punch so forceful it cracked his jaw and he crashed sideways in the dirt.

Isaac leapt to his feet while the twins growled in rage at their fun being spoiled, and apparently all the boys decided they would just throw caution to the wind and shift right here on the school's cross country track. I was about to yell that they were all idiots, but then a faraway piercing scream broke the tension.

I was the first to respond. I dashed in the direction, my mind immediately flashing to Stiles even though I knew it was a girl who'd shrieked—but that didn't matter. As I got closer the smell of blood became unmistakable, and while I bounded over grass and bushes, completely ignoring the trails now, all I could think of was Stiles and how he'd _better_ not be hurt.

A large crowd of students was gathered around a single tree about twenty yards away from where we'd been. I easily spotted Stiles' light grey hoodie among them, and flew to his side. "Hey," He breathed, reaching out to grab my arm in relief. "Don't run off like that again!"

"What happened?" I panted and he pointed at the tree. The source of the smell of blood in the air was laid out right in front of us. A boy had been tied to a tree with a navy leash wrapped around his neck, secured tightly enough to cut into his flesh. There was a river of dried blood cascading down his chest and spilling down his jeans and onto his shoes, pooling at his feet. There was actually blood coming out of almost every available orifice, including his mouth, nose and both his ears. It was a sincerely gruesome sight.

"Holy shit," I murmured. "Who could do that to a person?"

"It's him isn't it? That's the guy from last night?" Stiles asked Scott, who I hadn't noticed approach. Isaac was beside him and Scott took in the body with wide eyes.

"The guy who disappeared from the vets office? The one with the dog?" I clarified, and Scott nodded.

"Bullet," He quietly recalled. "The dog's name was Bullet."

"Well what was _his_ name?" I wanted to know.

"KYLE!" A girl shrieked in horror, as if to answer my question. It would almost have been comical if it weren't so tragic. "Oh God, _Kyle!"_

I was surprised to notice a cop catch the girl just before she could throw herself at Kyle's dead body. Sheriff came out of nowhere and I glanced over at Stiles in surprise.

"Get back!" Sheriff was darting around and hurriedly pushing all the students even farther away from the body. Coach joined in and helped to tell everyone to give them some space.

Stiles zipped over to his dad to eagerly point out that Kyle died in the same way as the other two victims, and Sheriff sighed tiredly as he took the injuries in. "Yeah, I see it," He told Stiles. "Do me a favor and get to class, would ya?"

Stiles seemed almost offended, but there was that familiar reprimanding I'd been waiting for. I know that Sheriff was justified in the things he tells us—don't come home so late, don't skip class, don't get so close to your dead classmate… it's not that he's being unfair. In fact, he's obviously doing the best he can. It's just that all these murders and kidnappings are clearly putting a strain on the Sheriff, and in turn, putting a strain on our relationships. He's trying to keep us safe; he's just afraid that he doesn't know how.

When Stiles didn't immediately move away Sheriff began to push him back like he did all the rest of the students. I started backing up before he had to push me and for a fleeting moment Sheriff and I locked gazes. He was sad, and worried, and freaked the hell out because this would make _four_ murders in the span of less than a week.

I couldn't muster him a smile, and it didn't matter because he turned away to do his job anyways. Dejected, I looped my arm through Stiles' and followed Scott and Isaac down the hill. We passed the twins on the way down and I noticed them frowning up at Kyle with pure bewilderment. They turned to each other and their expressions didn't change.

"Did you see the way they're looking at him?" Isaac asked us.

I raised my eyebrows and side-eyed Isaac.

"Yeah, you mean like they had no idea what happened?" Stiles smartly replied.

Isaac looked at Stiles and seemed eager to disagree. " _No_ , no way. They knew."

And he believed it with every cell of his being. It was written all across his face as he turned to scowl back at them, and I hate to admit this, but I think Isaac is wrong about them. I don't think they had anything to do with Kyle. In fact, I think maybe Isaac is starting to sound a little bit paranoid. I half expected him to tell us to _wake up_ and start referring to us as _sheeple._

"Guys! The kid was strangled with a _garrote_. All right? Am I the only one who's realizing the lack of werewolfitude in these murders?" Stiles ranted in frustration.

"Oh, you think it's a coincidence that they turn up and then people start dying?" Isaac scoffed as he gestured to indicate the twins.

"Well _no_ but I still don't think it's them," Stiles admits. We stop walking when Isaac paused to gawk at Stiles like he couldn't believe how wrong he was. He looked to Scott, asking him of his opinion.

Scott seemed caught off guard. He had his eyebrows raised and his mouth was slack as he looked blankly between his two friends. "I don't know yet," He finally declared with a shrug.

Stiles raised his eyebrows and leaned towards Scott as if he couldn't hear him properly. "You don't _know_ yet?"

Scott's mouth popped open but he didn't answer for a moment. "Well… He's got a point?"

Stiles balked.

"Seriously dude," Scott quietly murmured, conscious of the students and policemen that still stood within hearing range. "Human sacrifices?"

"Scott, your eyes turn into yellow glow sticks. Okay? Hair literally grows from your cheeks and then—" He wildly gestured to his cheeks. "Will immediately disappear! And if I were to stab you right now, it would just magically heal, but you're telling me you're having trouble grasping human sacrifices?"

Scott paused for a long moment afterwards before turning to Isaac with a hesitant expression. "He has a point too."

Isaac looked to me. "Savannah?"

"Savannah isn't an _idiot_ , okay? She knows I'm right," Stiles quickly answered for me.

I put my hands up defensively to Isaac. "Hey, listen, I don't trust them any farther than I could throw them, and after what just happened on the trail a few minutes ago I would _love_ to get the chance to throw them. As hard, and as far as I possibly can. But they don't have enough _patience_ or any use at all for a garrote."

"I don't care," Isaac hissed as he pointed back at the twins. "They killed that kid… they killed the girl that saved me, and they almost killed Brooke..." He gave me a pointed look with that last comment and I stiffened at his blatant manipulation. He ignored the dirty look I gave him and turned to glare determinedly in their direction. "And I'm gonna kill them too."

With that final ominous promise, he stalked past them, his lopes fast and agitated. He continued to glare at them until he couldn't anymore, and then broke into a jog as he headed for the locker rooms.

I sighed and shrugged at the boys. " _Great_ ," I said, and they looked at the twins with dread.

* * *

It was near the end of the school day. Somehow I made it through nearly every class today without earning myself a detention, or breaking a desk. My reward for all my hard work? Stiles and I would get to leave at the end of school, no doubt to investigate the sacrifices more, while Isaac and Allison had to stay for a bit and clean classrooms or something.

The period hadn't been started for long. I had my head down and I was in the middle of writing in my journal—something I hadn't had the urge to do since sometime after Stiles read it—when Ms. Morrell came to retrieve me.

That was my first red flag. I resisted. I told the teacher that I didn't want to miss any more notes. He shrugged at me and told me that it was out of his hands. He added that if I was so worried about notes I could probably get a copy from one of my classmates.

Scott grabbed my shoulder and gave me a panicked look, because there was a pretty good chance that this was going to involve my brother somehow. I knew it, he knew it, Stiles knew it. I resisted. But in the end, I lost.

I threw my things haphazardly into my small leather book bag and walked to the door. If I was actually a dog Ms. Morrell would have been dragging me out by the scruff of my neck and I would be digging my heels into the ground and pulling against her as hard as I could. As it was, she walked beside me with calm, measured steps.

She tried to engage me with casual conversation but I just stared straight ahead and marched towards her office. When we reached the door, I started to open it.

"Wait," She said, and didn't even flinch at the venomous glare I threw her. "Not there."

Now I _know_ this is a trap. We've never met anywhere besides her office before. I let go of the handle and squared my feet with my shoulders, my fists at my side. "If this has anything to do with Jack, you can tell him to come face me himself."

Her face was unreadable. "The principal's office," She said. I felt my eye twitch.

I shouldn't have gone. I should have faked being sick, or knocked her out, or done literally _anything_ except follow her. But you know what they say; hindsight is twenty-twenty.

This time _she_ opened the door. When she held it open and I looked in, I was not expecting to find what I saw. The principal was actually there, for one, seated at his desk, English accent and all. And in the chair across from him was the Sheriff. I would have relaxed, were it not for the third person in our presence.

Ms. Blake. The new English teacher. This would be a lecture about my attendance, and likely, my grades. They would threaten expulsion. We've hardly gotten through the first week of classes, and they're already pulling out their big guns.

Talk about an overreaction. And it was frustrating, because I had done so well last year. Were my efforts for nothing? Was it all in vain? Can I not catch a single break?

"Savannah," Principal Thomas gestured to the seat between Ms. Blake and Sheriff. "Please, join us."

"I'm good standing, thanks," I sneered as I came into the room and crossed my arms.

"Savannah," The Sheriff warned me with a dark look, and I let my hands fall to the side as I returned his glare in kind. _Traitor_.

Huffing, I went to plop in the seat between them, and gave Ms. Blake a bitchy once over as I rubbed at my nose. They waited for me to settle in. The blinds in his office were wide open, which meant lots of sunlight poured in and lit everyone's hair up every so slightly.

It also meant that the room was hotter than hell. I could feel myself begin to sweat through the flannel I wore. I watched through slitted eyes as Ms. Morrell the Snake slithered up beside Principal Thomas' desk. She leaned against it casually and the silence stretched on for another beat, kicking the tension in the room up another ten degrees.

"Do you know why you're here?" Ms. Blake asked.

I thought of the night in the boiler room, and immediately slapped a quick judgment over her as the _Reason Derek Almost Died._ "Let me guess," I coolly smiled at her. "Is it because I haven't been coming to class and your feelings are hurt?"

Her face hardened. "Partially."

Principal Thomas took over from there. "It was Ms. Blake who brought it to my attention that you've already missed three days of school all together, Savannah." He informed me of this like he was telling me that I had an incurable disease. I braced for impact as I scratched at my nose again and shifted in my seat. "Do you know there's only been five days of class so far?"

"Wow." I couldn't help it. "How fascinating." The desire to snap at him to make a fucking point was almost irresistible.

"I was just wondering if you _knew_ there had been five days. Because if you didn't know, perhaps that would explain your missing _three_ of them. That means your absence record is already at an astonishing sixty three percent." He paused for dramatic effect. When I didn't respond, he raised an eyebrow at me. "The acceptable amount is twenty five."

I sat back in my seat and ran a hand down the arms. "Geez, this is just super encouraging to hear. Why didn't we have one of these shindigs last year?"

"Because you didn't show any signs of succeeding prior to the final quarter of last year." There was another pause as he waited for some type of response from me, but I just stayed silent and waited for him to continue. "You managed to pull your grades up enough to earn more than just satisfactory marks, and it's thanks to that that you weren't expelled. It was really inspiring to watch. What happened?"

I glanced at Sheriff. "Do I really have to answer that?"

Principal Thomas sighed, but did not force me to answer him. "According to Ms. Morrell, you seem to have a deep-seated desire to succeed." My eyes snapped to her face, and she simply raised her eyebrows back at me unapologetically. "In other words, you seem to _want_ to be better. And after that final quarter, we know you are capable of _achieving_ better."

"You're all pissed that I seem to be blowing off my classes again and—I don't know—backsliding? But you know what's ironic? You _pulled me out of class_ to tell me this." Don't they have bigger issues to deal with? Like, say, the _murdered student_ that was found on school property this morning?

Principal Thomas grinned. "I can see that I don't seem to be getting through to you. Maybe this will: If you miss another four days of classes without a genuine excuse as to why, you will be expelled from Beacon Hills High School. Permanently."

I swallowed thickly, my palms sweating. Looking down, I nodded.

"Don't misunderstand," Principal Thomas said in a gentler tone. "No one in this room wants to see that happen."

I snorted, and he ignored it.

"Aside from your attendance, there is another matter that needs to be addressed. That's why I've asked Sheriff Stilinski and Ms. Morrell to be present."

Something about this whole thing seemed off. I felt the hairs on my arms prickle, and suddenly time was moving quicker. It was one of those moments that felt like I was just pushed down the side of a mountain, and I'm tumbling faster and faster, headed straight for something disastrous. "Okay…" I said, my voice betraying me with a slight quiver of trepidation. It caused all of the adults in the room to soften slightly and that somehow made it worse.

"Your foster parent, Mrs. Grady?" Principal Thomas spoke as though he was delivering bad news. "She passed away this morning."

 _Excuse me?_ I tried _really_ hard not to look at Sheriff. In fact, I tried so hard it was probably obvious that I _wouldn't_ look at him. I looked everywhere else but at him. I looked in everyone else's face except for his, and in them, I found pity and searching eyes, as though they were waiting for some type of reaction from me.

"I'm sure this is shocking for you to hear," Principal continued, and I cautiously watched him and vaguely wondered why my social worker wasn't telling me this himself. "And we _are_ aware you haven't been staying in your foster home very much. Your social worker contacted me with the news, and said that it would be a good idea for me to inform you of the incident myself. That's why Sheriff and Ms. Morrell are here. They're here to help you get placed in a more suitable environment."

And there it is. Finally, the crash at the end of the mountain. I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. I was shaking pretty hard now, my hands gripping onto the chair's arms so tightly I knew I would snap them if I wasn't careful. My face was hot and I'm pretty sure you can see the sweat on my forehead and under my arms from a mile away. Unable to resist any longer, I turned desperately to the Sheriff, begging him with my eyes to tell me it wasn't true. To reassure me that this was all a giant misunderstanding.

His face was closed. Completely and totally devoid of emotion, dangerously blank, and I realized its because no one knows that I've been staying with him. No one in this room besides he and I know that it's _his_ house I've been staying at all summer. It was under _his_ guidance that I flourished, under _his_ thumb that I was pushed to succeed, and under _his_ authority that I've been to any classes at all this year. _Him_. All him.

And now…

He licked his lips and looked away before he spoke. "After this meeting is over, Ms. Morrell will take you back to her office where she will call your social worker to get the name and address of your new foster parent. Since you don't really have much of a relationship with your social worker, the judge agreed with me that getting Ms. Morrell involved with the process may help... Help to make this as painless as possible. We all know how stressful it can be moving to a new home."

 _Moving_ to a new home? My mouth was dry, my lips sticking together as I spoke with an uncharacteristically soft voice. "Will I stay in Beacon Hills?"

Sheriff's eyes flashed to the floor. It was so quick that the others may not have even noticed it, but I did. I recognized it to be a sign of how much it pains him to have this conversation with me. To have to pretend that it's not killing him too. "I don't know."

My lips slackened. Stupefied, I turned away from Sheriff and willed myself not to break down and cry right there in the principal's office. I knew that it had to be plain as day, how hard this news was hitting me.

I have to leave the only home I've known since my parents died. I am being forcibly removed from the Stilinski's house, and there's absolutely nothing than anyone can do about it.

Sheriff loudly cleared his throat and pulled me from my thoughts. I blinked to clear my vision and focused on him again, my heart racing in my chest as I shifted uncomfortably. "There is one other option," He said, hesitantly. "If you want… I could try to get into contact with your brother."

" _No_ ," I fiercely growled, shocking the rest of the people in the room. The Sheriff's eyes met mine, and for a second he forgot to keep his mask on. He was stunned by my reaction, and now, he was suspicious too. I looked away and clenched my jaw. "I—um… that's… not something that I want."

He stayed silent and Ms. Blake cleared her throat next to me. In that moment, I hated her. I felt powerless to stop my life from falling apart—and I knew there was absolutely no one I could blame (except maybe for that fat ass Mrs. Grady for fucking dying) so when I looked at Ms. Blake and remembered the boiler room, I had to literally sit on my hands to keep from attacking her.

She was visibly off-put by the way I looked at her. She quickly looked away and even ducked her head a bit, as if she knew what I was thinking. And she may well have.

"Come on, Savannah," Ms. Morrell's gentle voice broke the deafening silence and she came to put a comforting hand on my shoulder. I flinched away from her and the room fell quiet again. "We have to go."

Taking a breath, I forced myself not to look at Sheriff as I slid out of the seat and pushed forcefully between Ms. Blake and my chair. I actually managed to knock her to the side and she had to balance herself. No one dared to scold me or even make a noise as I followed Ms. Morrell from the room, Sheriff's eyes following me every step of the way until the door shut behind us.

I was numb as she led me to her office. The halls might have been full, and they might have been empty—I could've stepped out of that office and into fucking _Narnia_ and I don't think I would've noticed. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the chair across from Morrell as she pecked away at her keyboard, babbling to me about something.

Her voice sounded muffled, like someone had their hands clamped over my ears. My eyes were unfocused and settled on the front of her desk, my hands gripping the seat's arms so tightly that I felt my knuckle pop. Or maybe I just broke more of the school's furniture. My ears rang loudly.

Another foster home. Who would it be this time? A creepy old man who's a child molester? A bible-thumper? Or just another lazy asshole who's looking to collect the checks? Does this mean that Sheriff won't let me stay with him anymore? Will they be watching too closely for that now?

No. I have friends now. Friends that have couches, probably. Floors at least. Yeah, definitely floors. I have tons of places to stay. Besides Stiles, I have Derek, and I have Scott, and… Maybe Brooke, if her parents don't notice. Yeah. See? I have places to go.

 _Savannah…_

I won't be forced back onto the streets again.

 _Savannah._

I won't be sitting in the kitchen this evening, listening to Stiles rant to his dad about the case. Or putting another dollar in the asshole jar. Or watching Cops and hearing Sheriff criticize every move those police officers make. And I definitely, _definitely_ , won't wake up warm and safe and _home_ in Stiles' arms.

They can't do this, can they? What are they gonna do? What can they do?

What can _I_ do?

"Savannah!" Ms. Morrell's voice rings out loud and clear like a bell, startling me from my thoughts with a jolt. She's frowning at me. "Eat that."

I looked down. In my hands was a mini Snickers bar. I tossed it onto her desk with a furled nose. "I don't want it!"

"Eat it," She said through her teeth, pushing it back towards me. "You're in shock."

"I don't _want_ it." I sat back and crossed my arms, jerking my chin towards her computer. "What's this fucker's name?"

Her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. "I would appreciate it if you would watch your language."

I would appreciate it if you kissed my ass.

She glared at me. "Last warning."

Oh. "Did I say that out loud?" I asked, and she simply raised an eyebrow again. I looked away.

"The good news is, you'll be staying in Beacon Hills. Your new foster parent's name is Clarice Jones."

I scoffed, tightening my arms where they were crossed over my chest. "Is she an FBI Agent that likes interviewing a cannibalistic psychiatrist?"

Ms. Morrell's face stayed blank. "I don't know," She smoothly said. "You can ask her this evening."

I brushed down a wrinkle in my shirt. "You don't know her occupation?"

"She's the manager at Karl's Diner."

I froze, unsure if I had heard her right. My face was probably the perfect picture of disgust and bitter amusement. "You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me," I said, rolling my jaw.

"I'm not," She said, choosing to ignore my profanity.

"She's the manager, and she has time for a foster kid?"

Ms. Morrell shrugged a shoulder and looked back at her computer screen, apparently seeing the merit in my point. "According to the state of California, yes."

"Well that's just comforting," I insincerely told her with my lip snarled up. "Does she know that she's got a ward of the state coming to crash on her couch and eat her food?"

"So you're actually going to go?" Ms. Morrell seemed genuinely curious, and I gave her an unimpressed glare without answering. She sighed. "Savannah…" She trailed off, seeming to want to say something but not exactly sure where to begin or how to say it.

I raised a mocking eyebrow at her. "What?"

She shook her head. "Never mind."

There was a knock at the door. When I turned around, I saw Sheriff poke his head in. A pang of misery hit me right in the gut and I quickly sat forward in my seat and clenched my teeth, holding my breath for good measure. "Are we ready?" He asked.

"I think so," Ms. Morrell confirmed as she passed a scrap of paper over to me. I stared down at it without moving a muscle to grab it. Across it in neat, clear handwriting was penned the name of my new foster parent along with her address. I looked back up at her and she sighed loudly when she realized I wouldn't be taking it any time soon. "Could you give us a moment, Sheriff?"

"No," I answered for him as I shot out of my seat and snatched the paper off her desk. " _Bye_."

I strode across her office without looking back and Sheriff stepped away to let me through. He shut the door, keeping his eyes on the handle for a minute, and then he finally turned to face me.

I wanted to plead with him. To beg him to do something— _anything_. His hands were at his hips and his eyes were creased, an open frown marring his face now that we were alone.

The hall was silent as we both waited for the other to speak first. But I'm too afraid of what he'll say if I ask him the questions burning in my mind, so I know that I won't be the one to break the silence.

"I'm gonna fix this," He insisted, his hand leaving his hip to make a calming gesture, like he anticipated me to explode or something. "I will. I'll—I'll get my foster care license," He sounded determined and sure of himself, but he was talking fast like he was trying to ignore something. "It's—it's just gonna take some time first—"

I shook my head. "It takes months. And you're up to your neck in homicides, you won't have time to do everything it takes to get a license."

His mouth was open like he intended to refute me, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He shifted on his feet and his frown deepened. "I'll think of something."

I shook my head and gave him a soft smile, which seemed to be the last thing he wanted to see. "It's okay," I told him, as he turned away to scratch at his chin before he came back at me.

"No," He told me, his hand up as if it was a gavel and he was a judge. "You don't _get_ to give up again! I won't let you!"

I half-heartedly rolled my eyes. "I'm not going to _give up_."

"You will, because that's what you do!" He suddenly burst, and I flinched and took a step back. I'll admit: it hurt to hear him say that about me. His mind seemed to catch up with his words and he immediately looked regretful. "That's not what I meant. I just meant that you… I need to be there now. Things aren't like they were the last time I took you to your foster home. It's different. You need… I have to…" He was dying to say that I needed _him_. That he felt responsible for me now, and that we were some kind of team.

I looked away, squaring my shoulders. "I can manage on my own," I told him without emotion. "I'll be okay."

"I had no idea this was happening today," He suddenly told me. "You have to know that—if I knew—I would've…"

"What?" I asked, with a tired smile. "Sheriff, it's okay. Really. We had a good time. You were great, and hey, look at the bright side! You get the living room all to yourselves again. One less kid to worry about."

My eyelashes fluttered and Sheriff's face paled as he apparently thought about what it truly meant for me to move out for the first time. He dropped his gaze and his shoulders slumped, and he suddenly looked so beaten. So crushed. I didn't realize how much it would effect him to have me out of his life; after all, I had really only been in it for a short amount of time in the grand scheme of things. Truthfully I don't think either of us realized how much we'd come to rely each other's company.

I didn't realize how much I'd come to depend on him. And, for that matter, his son. At the thought of Stiles I really just wanted to lie on the ground and fall apart. I couldn't stand to look Sheriff in the face, knowing that nothing was going to be the same, and feeling like I'd wasted so much precious time with them.

I don't know how I'm going to make it through being dropped of at another foster home. I don't know how I'm going to say goodbye to him. Of course, I know it's not _goodbye_ goodbye. But imagine living with someone for nearly half a year and finally feeling like you have a home, only to be forced out again. Maybe then you'll begin to understand how I'm feeling.

"What are we going to say to Stiles?" I worriedly asked.

Sheriff frowned deeply in thought for a moment. "I have no idea," He told me, honestly, and I shook my head in misery. "He'll understand."

"Well that'll make one of us, then."

The Sheriff snorted without smiling and nodded.

School had ended in the midst of this whole debacle. I followed Sheriff out to his car, trying desperately not to think of how much it felt like being taken to prison. The ride felt short; too short. The house isn't far from the school, near the outskirts of Beacon Hills.

He pulled to a stop outside and I blinked, surprised to find that there were tears in my eyes. I blinked them away and took a steadying breath as the Sheriff opened his door. After another moment, I followed suit and stepped out of the vehicle.

I looked up at the house. It was small. Actually, it was a duplex, which means it was a large house that was split in half and shared with another family. I knew by the numbers on the door which one was hers, but they both looked the exact same. I hated them both equally.

"We'll get your clothes to you," Sheriff suddenly said, though it was audibly difficult for him to say. "Do you have a bag?"

I felt dazed, like this wasn't reality, like I was watching this happen to me instead of living it. I instinctively reached back to my small leather backpack as answer.

"That's your only bag?" Sheriff looked at it with a disturbed face. He sighed and shook his head. "We'll have one you can take."

"That's okay," I started to say, but he held his hand up.

"We're not keeping your clothes."

I tried to imagine packing. Separating my clothes from Stiles, where they were simply mixed together in his drawers. Finding my converse, packing it all up in a bag. Leaving their house and moving into half a home with a stranger.

I wouldn't do it. I realized it there, in that moment as a woman with straw-like salt and pepper hair stepped out and coughed into her arm. She hacked like she'd been smoking since she popped out of her mother's womb. Her nightgown—at least I hope it's a nightgown—was yellow, and stained. She wore ratty slippers and her face had age spots all across it. Her teeth were stained, and I could smell the cigarettes on her breath from here at the edge of the street.

She lifted her hand to wave. "Hey there!" She broke off to cough, and then cursed under her breath before she continued. "You must be Savannah."

I looked at Sheriff with distaste. He sighed at me and waved hello to the woman, going to make his way to the porch. "Evening, Mrs. Jones. I'm Sheriff Stilinski."

He held his hand out for her and she shook it three times exactly, digging at the top of her head with an arthritic finger. I mildly wondered if she would die soon, too. "Savannah, come on, girl! Get inside. I'll make pancakes." She took a long drag of her cigarette and I lingered on the street, close to the Sheriff's car.

Sheriff beckoned me with his hand. A muscle in my jaw jumped. Slowly, with my feet dragging every step of the way, I approached the porch and stopped just in front of Sheriff.

I was close enough to smell her. She didn't stink, which was shocking, but she was literally coughing all over the place constantly. "Well hello Clarice," I smartly said, and she cackled out a wet laugh.

"We can put that in to watch while I start mixing the batter!"

I gave the Sheriff a terrified look. Good lord. This woman wants my first impression of living with her to be pancakes and _Silence of the Lambs?_

He reached out to grab my shoulder, giving me a smile that was fond and sad all at the same time. I realized this was goodbye. I wanted to pull him into a hug, but Mrs. Jones was right there. She may find it strange.

I realized that I didn't give a shit. So, without warning, I threw my arms around him and pressed my face into his jacket. He hugged me back just as tightly, seeming to never want to let go, and I wondered why the fuck I hadn't hugged him more often. He gives great hugs.

I quickly pulled away and ran up the steps without looking behind me again, bolting past Clarice and disappearing in her house.

I was right. It smelled like I was living in an ashtray. The woman who lived in a shoe? No, the woman who lived in an ashtray. Oh, and her cat hates me.

It yowled in horror the minute I stepped through the door and hopped off the back of the couch so quickly that it knocked a lamp down in the process.

Clarice came rushing into the house to see what happened. When she saw the lamp, and me staring at it in shock, she boomed, "God _damn_ it, GAIUS! You fat fucker! You better run!"

I'm sure I stood rooted in that living room for almost thirty minutes. She told me to sit down probably a hundred times, but I found that I couldn't move. I looked all around the front room, trying to imagine living here.

There was no chair. One couch, a loveseat. Small. Cramped. And also, apparently her coat rack. The table on the left must have been her mailbox. There was a stack of mail a foot high, no joke. It was sliding off and into the carpeted floor, probably stuck between the wall and the couch.

On the coffee table was an ashtray that didn't look like it'd been emptied in several weeks. But knowing the cough that _Clarice_ has, it's probably more like a couple days' worth. And the television still used a VHS. I know because when Clarice was finished cleaning up her broken lamp, she went to dig through the mound of junk in her bucket by the television, and she pulled a VHS tape out and blew the dust off. It was Silence of the Lambs.

She wasn't joking about watching it. Clarice babbled incessantly, telling me all about how she's seen the movie maybe once or twice. She told me about her cat, and how usually he's too lazy to even move to eat, so sometimes she has to bring his bowl and stick it right under his nose. Most the time though, she just feeds him a hunk of whatever she's eating. I have a feeling Gaius is on a steady diet of pancakes and cigarettes.

The bottom left corner of her ancient television screen was permanently stuck a vibrant pink and green, which is especially weird because it's not even a color television.

And in my mind, I tried to think of what to do. I wanted to go see the boys. I wanted to leave, _now_. I wanted to see Stiles—to ask him what to do. I wanted to see Scott so he could tell me it would be okay and invite me to stay on his couch. I wanted to see the Sheriff and tell him to go ahead and apply for that foster care license.

But mostly, I just wanted to curl up on Stiles' bed and never leave his room ever again.

I thought of Brooke, and hoped that wherever she was, she was okay.

The room felt small. Too small. It was dark, and tight and smoky. It was wrong, all wrong. What the _fuck_ am I doing in this woman's house? Who told me I have to live here? Then suddenly, it hit me. I have to _live_ here.

So I panicked, and I ran, leaving the front door open behind me.

The sun was setting and it was raining. I had been in her house longer than I realized. It felt good despite the rain, the fresh air clearing my head for what felt like the first time in hours. I don't know what happened but coming out of that house was like coming up for air.

And now that I was out there, I tried to imagine facing Stiles, and I knew I couldn't because the only thing I would want to do when I saw him is go home. And I can't do that. At least, not yet. The Sheriff can't find out that I already bailed from the foster home. By the time I realized I was actually headed in the direction of someone's house, it surprised me to find who I was headed towards.

I stared up at Derek's apartment complex. I was soaked in rain, and the sun was almost already set. I didn't let myself think about it too long, because I think if I look to closely at why I found myself on Derek's doorstep I would be uncomfortable with what I find.

It was locked. I tugged against the huge metal door, assuming that I hadn't pulled hard enough the first time, but it wouldn't budge. My fists pounded on the door. "Derek!" I called. "Let me in! It's me!"

There was no answer. I pounded harder, louder. Wondered if I should have claimed to be the police.

"Derek! It's Savannah! I'm fucking freezing, and I've had such as shitty ass day! Come on! Don't be a fucking asshole!"

I continued relentlessly smacking it. Finally, after a long moment of nothing but the sound of my hand beating against the door, it slid open.

I sighed in relief and tried to push past Derek. "Move, I'm freezing," I told him. He stared down at me, his jaw tight. "What?"

"What do you want?"

"I—" I looked away, crossing my arms. "I got kicked out, alright?"

He frowned down at me, processing the news. There was a beat where he didn't say anything. And then, "Why?"

I sighed tiredly and rubbed my nose. "My foster mom died."

"You had a foster mom?" He asked unsympathetically. I shrugged at him.

"Now I've got a brand new shiny one," I told him with false buoyancy. "She smokes and her fat cat Gaius hates me."

He considered me for another few moments. "So what do you want?"

My eye twitched. "Derek, if you're trying to piss me off, it's working."

He seemed uncomfortable suddenly, like he was about to do something he didn't want to. He couldn't even look at me as he took a step back into his apartment and grabbed the door, blocking the way in. "I don't have any room, so if this is your crappy way of asking to stay then the answer is no."

"What?" I exclaimed, gesturing at the massive apartment behind him. "You live in a fucking factory! There's enough room to park a helicopter in there!"

"What, now that you're back on the streets you think that makes it like the last six months never happened?" He was angry now. Except, no, that wasn't quite right. When Derek gets angry he either explodes or he just smacks you into submission. Not this. Not this… cold indifference.

"Derek." It was more like a question than a statement. I was unable to disguise the offense in my voice. "Come on, dude. I thought—uhh…" I blinked rapidly, my heart quickly sinking as I realized that he wasn't going to let me in. "I thought we got past that?"

"Where did you get that from?" He let go of the doorframe and stood up straight. "You're not my beta, and you're not my problem." And he slammed the door in my face.

I stood there, staring at the closed door with my mouth agape. I turned around, completely baffled. What the ffuu—?...

Looking up, I turned back to his door and lifted my hand to knock again, but something held my hand still just I was about to touch it. My mind flashed back to the night, all those years ago when I stood outside Jack's apartment and did the same damn thing. _Begged_ to be let in. Begged not to be abandoned. I'm about to do it again.

I was suddenly struck with the feeling of taking a huge leap back in my life. I was literally back at square fucking one. Trying to find somewhere to stay that wasn't my foster home, going to the house of the one person I thought I knew would let me stay, and being rejected. I'm homeless again. And it's an impossible feeling to describe, but shattered is a pretty good start. I couldn't do it. I couldn't beg him to change his mind. I care a lot about Derek. After what happened last night, I can recognize that. But I won't beg him. I won't do that. And it cuts deep that he would even force me in the position to have to in the first place.

With some effort, I pulled my hand off the door and pulled myself away from his doorstep. "God, Derek," I muttered. "Way to kick a girl while she's down."

So, trying with every fiber of my being not to be discouraged, I stepped back into the rain and went to the next closest house. It was also the only other house I knew to go to. I don't even know where Brooke lives anymore, and she'll definitely be home by now.

It was dark by the time I made it to Scott's street, and the lights were on inside. I went up and almost just strolled straight in. A summer straight of being over here nearly every day made it seem strange to have to knock on the door, but after the complete rejection I just faced, I didn't want to just barge in uninvited.

So I quietly knocked and waited, shifting on my feet. It was Melissa that answered. She wore her scrubs from work. "Savannah?" She asked, looking me over. "God, you're soaked! Take your shoes off and get in the house."

I wanted to cry, suddenly. No questions asked, and she was already inviting me in. I took a shuddering breath and bit the inside of my cheek as I braced my hand against the door and worked to try and kick my shoes off.

It took some effort and Melissa watched, confused at why I was standing outside her house soaking wet so late at night. I started forward and she suddenly threw her hands up and told me to wait.

Awkwardly, I stood sock footed in Scott's doorway. The inside smelled like literal cookies, and somewhere in the house I could smell an apple-scented candle burning. The inside looked clean. The house was old, but it had been kept up nicely. I had never paid attention before, but now, standing here at their mercy, I noticed that the wood floors were still shiny like new, and the stairs looked well travelled but maintained. This house was cared for. For some inexplicable reason, it made a lump form in my throat, and I suddenly took in my own appearance.

My flannel was dripping wet, along with my jeans. My black hair hung down my shoulders and back in sopping strands, and my face was damp with rain. Or maybe those were tears. I stepped to the edge of the porch, gathering my hair in my hands to wring it out.

Melissa came back to the door with a towel. "Here," She held both arms out and waved me inside. "Come on!"

I held my hand out to grab the towel, but she simply unfolded it and reached behind me to wrap it over my shoulders like I was a small child. I can't remember the last time I was so mothered.

She frowned at me in concern. "Now what the _hell_ is going on? Did you and Stiles break up?"

I immediately shook my head and opened my mouth to explain when Scott said my name from the top of the stairs. We looked up at him and he had this look on his face—this complete and total sympathy, and I knew that he knew. Which meant that Stiles knew.

I pressed my lips together and looked down, and he was frowning slightly when he looked to his mom. "Can she stay?" He asked.

Melissa opened her mouth as if to say she didn't know, but then she turned to me. I felt her look me over, and she said, "Of course. She can sleep on the couch since Isaac is in the guest room."

"Isaac?" I frowned and looked back to Scott.

He sighed and started down the stairs. "Yeah, Derek kicked him out because he said he doesn't have enough room now that his sister is back."

I felt fractionally better. "Oh."

"Isaac is in the shower now, but it seems like you might need one afterwards," Melissa decided, and she gave me a warm smile. "I think I have some clothes you can fit into for tonight. Can I wash those?"

I looked back at Scott and then looked at Melissa. I really wanted to hug her, but that might be weird, so I just nodded with my lip between my teeth. She guided me towards the kitchen.

"Are you hungry?" She asked. "I think I have some of that shake-and-pour pancake batter in the kitchen, it'll take like five minutes."

I laughed, my voice suddenly thick with tears because I was overwhelmed by it all, and she and Scott exchanged a subtle look of confusion until I nodded. "Pancakes would be great."


	70. Feet Run Wild

_**Seriously, go look this song up after you read the chapter! It fits the mood/theme freakishly well. I heard it for the first time on the radio at work yesterday and I looked up like WTF DUDE THATS PERFECT FOR THE ALPHA PACK. And specifically for this episode...**_

 _ **Anyways, enough out of me. I hope you all enjoy :)**_

* * *

You let your feet run wild  
Time has come as we all oh, go down  
Yeah but for the fall oh, my  
Do you dare to look him right in the eyes?

Cause they will run you down, down til the dark  
Yes and they will run you down, down til you fall  
And they will run you down, down til you go  
Yeah so you can't crawl no more

And way down we go-o-o-o-o

 _\- Way Down We Go, by Kaleo_

* * *

 **Brooke's POV**

Brooke sat in the darkness of her new room. Everything inside it had its place. The last time she'd been in here it was nothing more than an empty, blank canvas: bare walls and a roomy expanse of pale wooden floors. To her mother, it was just another task to be fulfilled. To Brooke, it was a chance. An opportunity for a new start; a place all her own. A place to finally call home.

So much had changed in her life recently. She'd gotten new friends, and learned about a part of the world that most people are blind to. Knowing about the supernatural was like taking a peek behind the proverbial curtain—and for Brooke, where the view from her cage so high up in her sheltered life made everyone else look faraway and unreachable—it was freeing.

For as long as she could remember Brooke looked at other people and wondered if their lives were as messed up as hers. Did they ever feel the horrible, secret things that she felt? Or was she truly alone and unique in her misery? She couldn't see how that could be true, but the evidence was right there in front of her every day. Girls her own age who made their achievements in her old private school look effortless. Did the perfect, delicate ballerina in her Literature class ever feel used? Could she relate to Brooke at all, despite how they obviously lived in separate worlds?

It was this forlorn feeling of isolation that drew her to Savannah. When she met Savannah that afternoon all that time ago, she had been new to the public school of Beacon Hills. She'd fled the walls of her private school in search of something that she felt deep in her bones could only be found in BHHS.

Savannah was so different from anyone she'd ever seen before; everything she felt was displayed clearly for the world to see. Savannah didn't try and disguise her misery, or her callous distrust. She held everyone at arm's length and she made sure you knew it. It was fascinating, and on a very personal level, intoxicating. It drew her in. After all her years of feeling like the only one alive who felt those things, she finally found someone that could relate. Savannah didn't put on a show for people.

Brooke wanted to be like her. So unafraid of saying how she felt. So unapologetic for being pissed off at the world, at her life, and at people in general. Brooke could relate to all of that. She thought she could learn a thing or two from the tough girl smoking on the bench.

She had to speak to her. For a week straight, Brooke watched Savannah from afar. She watched her sit on the same bench every day, smoking her cigarettes and soaking in the sun and the rain. She was obviously high on something, her mind a million miles away from where she sat. For a week, Brooke gathered her courage.

She even bought a pack of cigarettes—the one with a green strip around the outside. She liked green. The cashier didn't bother to ask for an ID, but just in case he might have, Brooke made sure to emphasize that she was running late for a business meeting and _really_ needed a cigarette before she faced her boss's wrath. The cashier gave her an insincere smile that told her he truly didn't give a shit, or believe her for that matter, and was happy to keep the change.

Savannah seemed to take advantage of people when they sat next to her, asking if they could spare a cigarette, and affording them a rare grin that simultaneously disarmed and exhilarated Brooke. So she thought maybe if she had a pack of cigarettes then Savannah would speak first, which was good, because Brooke had a habit of losing her nerve right before she did something. _Choking_ , her mother called it.

On the seventh day, she sat on the bench beside her before she could choke. And it worked. Savannah took the bait, hook line and sinker. And she was nice to her. Well, she didn't cuss her out all that much, and she didn't tell her to get lost. In fact she complimented Brooke and gave her advice that was so simple, and yet so profound. Savannah was the first person to tell her that it's okay to be whoever you are.

In front of her, the soft glow from her ring vanity illuminated her face. Brooke's room was no longer empty. During her _time away,_ as her mother had come to call the five days Brooke had been kidnapped, her parents had decorated her room for her.

As with everything else in her life they made her choices for her. Picked out a soft cream color for the walls, and a deep blue comforter to spread across her tall king sized bed. Though the room was certainly a downgrade from her last suite, it was by no means subtle, and there was a small crystal chandelier hanging just inside the doorway. One wall was a bookcase, filled with all the books she's read over time and miscellaneous decorations from IKEA. Meaningless things that filled space, occupied the void, decorated the room and made it pretty.

But it wasn't pretty. It was cruel, to take that one simple opportunity away from her. Brooke had been so excited to get the chance to finally create a space for herself. She'd had visions of a pale, muted mint green for the walls, with crisp white trim. Her bedding would be the same crisp white color and soft enough to float with the clouds—and _pillows_. Mountains of brightly colored pillows that complimented the tame green walls. Her same desk from before to keep her computer, the only piece of her old room that held any sentimental value. Dotted throughout the room would be the occasional pop of color to balance it all. And to finish it off, a window seat. She'd _really_ wanted a window seat.

But none of that came to pass. When the day at the hospital was done, along with the interviews for the news teams, and she was finally allowed to go to her room… she'd found it filled to the brim with things that didn't belong to her. Beautiful enough to look like an advertisement torn straight from a Pottery Barn catalogue, and every bit as impersonal.

Her dad tried to make it seem like they'd done it _for_ her. So that when she finally returned home, as they both knew she would, all Brooke had to do was go upstairs and get ready for bed. But she knew the truth. The truth was that the plans for her bedroom had been picked out weeks ago, possibly even months, and in the midst of preparing their new house and filling their daughter's empty room they'd failed to notice that she was missing.

She knew it without them having to say a word. Brooke had done everything they'd asked. _Everything_. She wore this face full of makeup for them—these clothes that she'd never seen before in her life and wouldn't have picked out to wear even on her most conservative day—and she played the part that they expected her to. And when the cameras turned off and the shows were over, still, her job was not done. It was never done.

Brooke peeled the heavy set of false eyelashes from her eyelids. She set them down against the glossy, black vanity table that had been picked out for her. It felt like she was an actress on the set of a movie. This was not a life she lived; it was a role she filled.

A tissue soaked in makeup remover was her weapon of choice, a tool to chip away the mask that had been painted on earlier this afternoon in her hospital room by someone her parents hired from their endless list of friends. Her red lipstick was stubborn, but she scrubbed until her mouth was raw and pink. Next her foundation. And, as she wiped the eye makeup away, she didn't cry.

What use would crying do? It wouldn't give her the five missing days of her life back. It wouldn't break her out of this cage she lived in.

* * *

 **Savannah's POV**

Stiles' bed was empty when I came through the window. It was early still; around five thirty in the morning. At first I panicked. I wondered where he could possibly be.

Then I caught the sound of his heartbeat coming from the living room. I lingered there, in the darkness of his room, staring at the bed that I shared with him for so many weeks. Empty and unmade. Stiles hates making the bed. I can still see where we both slept the previous night, where the sheets were pushed to the middle and then kicked down to the foot of the bed.

Tearing my eyes away, I went to his dresser with the intent to pull out a fresh change of clothes. But something about the act felt final, like to actually change my clothes from the ones I wore now would cement the fact that I couldn't just change them whenever I felt like it anymore. I would have to make a special trip here to rifle through the drawers, or I would have to do what I knew would be impossible to do. Separate them. Somehow, the act felt like separating _us_.

We've spent every spare second together for almost five months. We've shared everything—clothes, food, breath… laughter, and sorrow. Traded secrets. Worshipped each other's bodies with sighed prayers and reverent kisses. I'd been wearing his clothes for months. They were washed together, in the same machine using the same products. My scent was his, and vice versa. We smelled like home.

I shut the drawer and swallowed thickly, turning away from the dresser with a heavy heart and clenched fists. In the living room, I could hear Stiles sleeping. Sheriff was still in his room too. As quietly as I could manage, I crept into the living room.

The hallway was dark enough to be black. My hand pressed against the wall, gripping it tight so that I didn't fly to Stiles' side and wake him up.

He lay on the couch. I recognized the blanket wrapped in his fingers and clenched in his hands, pressed to his mouth and nose as he slept. It was the same blanket I'd claimed as my own while I camped out on their couch. His hair was sticking up in all directions and I could smell the distress rolling from him in waves. Stiles slumbered restlessly, his limbs constantly shifting; searching for something that they couldn't quite find and settling for pulling the blanket closely to his chest. I hurt to think he unconsciously reached for me.

My heart screamed at me to cross the short distance to the couch, begged to brush the hair from his eyes and wrap the blanket more securely around his shoulders. To go tuck him in with a lingering kiss against his creased forehead.

But I didn't. I couldn't. There was something inside me that knew if I did that, he would wake. And if he woke, we would be forced to talk. And it was not the right time for that. Stiles at least deserved a full night's rest before he was forced to look me in the face—I couldn't blindside him with it. To be totally honest, I had no idea _what_ he felt, but I knew he was hurting because he couldn't even bare to sleep in his own bed without me anymore. I couldn't disturb him now; pull him from his tormented sleep just so he could anguish with me over our rotten luck.

I knew I would see him later today, and I knew we would talk then. So even though it felt wrong, I forced myself back out of our home through the window I came in, empty handed but filled with an even heavier heart.

* * *

I smelled him before I saw him. My brother: the street fighter turned alpha werewolf. How he came to be that way is a mystery that pesters me in my most quiet moments. How did this happen to him?

To some degree, Jack's always been this way. He's always been cocky, and he's always been hungry for power. When I was younger I would imagine that Jack taunted his opponents in a fight. I never actually saw him fight for myself, but in my mind I could just hear him boasting that he was the winning bet; that he would take the other person down before they even knew what was happening, even if his opponent was a mountain man or… or a werewolf.

In my mind, this is how he came to meet someone from the alpha pack. They saw something in him—something that thirsted for blood, something strong and unflinching. He would have given them a run for their money, werewolf or not. Jack's always been a giant, even when he was a human. But he used to have a heart too.

I could just see him meeting Kali and sweeping her off her clawed feet. I could see where he would find her wildfire spirit mesmerizing, and think her to be the ultimate prize. Obviously I don't know the details, but I could imagine.

The difference between Jack _then_ and Jack _now_ , is that from what I can tell Jack has dropped all pretense of being a good guy. He's finally become just as strong as he always knew he could be and now he's just… Jack.

When I turned the corner to Scott's house I saw a figure sitting on the steps of his porch in the early morning light. It was the jean jacket and bun that confirmed what my nose and my gut already knew to be true, and the blood in my veins boiled that Jack was so bold.

He looked mildly amused as I stormed down the sidewalk. Jack sat slouched, calm, with his toned arms rested casually against his bent knees and a ghost of a smirk haunting his lips. "About time, sister."

"Get up." I didn't stop as I strode past, and I took some small ounce of glee at the fact that Jack was probably irritated to be commanded to do anything. Even if it was me that commanded it. But, he's in an alpha pack now. Following orders is in the job description.

He fell into step beside me with his hands in his pockets, towering over my head even though he was the same height as Scott and Stiles. "Where are we going?"

I gave him a dirty look and he raised an eyebrow down at me. When we were far enough from Scott's house that I felt safe talking to him, I turned and crossed my arms, but Jack just continued past.

Surprised, I watched him walk down the street until he stopped outside a restaurant. He opened the door and disappeared inside without a backwards glance. Belatedly I wondered if this was a trap.

Too late now. I squared my shoulders and set my jaw before following him inside.

It was basically empty. A quiet coffee shop that had clearly just opened, with specials written across blackboards behind the counter in vibrant chalk. It was early enough that a radio wasn't even playing yet. Only the hisses and beeps of the machines filled the quiet restaurant.

Jack was at a table in the corner. He watched me approach, and I could feel the barista eyeing the pair of us as I made my way over and pulled the chair out to sit across from him. "How did you know I would be at Scott's?"

"You kids," Jack said with a shake of his head. "You're too easy to track."

 _Then why didn't he track me to Stiles'?_ I wondered. But I wasn't about to volunteer that information. It was annoying to hear him talk like he was so much better, to know that he knew so much more than I did and taunted me for it. "So you followed me," I surmised, clear accusation in my voice.

Jack rolled his eyes. "As if I didn't already know who you would run to. He's your alpha, isn't he? That kid?"

"Scott?" I was surprised at his question. Is Scott my alpha? I hadn't thought about it too hard. When I chose to leave Derek's pack, it was with the knowledge that I would be joining Scott's. "But Scott's not an alpha."

"And yet you follow him," Jack tilted his head at me and squinted one of his eyes smartly. "Sounds like an alpha to me."

"You would know," I suddenly bit, but Jack just grinned indulgently. My knuckles popped as I flexed my fingers under the table and Jack seemed to be fighting off a laugh at how easy it was for him to ruffle my feathers. "Why do you care?"

Apparently it wasn't funny anymore. "Because you're _wasting_ your potential." Jack was suddenly louder, his voice holding more emotion than I expected, and I was stunned into silence. He continued, visibly frustrated. "That pack is a _joke_ , Savannah. You're _way_ too strong for them."

"What are you talking about?" I leaned forward so there was no chance of him missing a word. "You better _think_ before you say another word."

"I'm talking about all of them!" He insisted, unfazed. "Derek, he's too weak to do what it takes to be a real alpha. He has _no_ idea what it means to lead. And Scott, he's still just a lovesick puppy."

"That's not fair to say!" I cried. "You don't even know him! Either of them! Scott does the best he can, and actually, so does Derek!"

"They don't know _what_ they're doing," Jack dismissed and I shot forward to throw my hands out.

"Neither do I!"

"Exactly!" Jack finally shouted back. I looked down and took a moment to try and calm myself. Encouraged that he seemed to be getting through, Jack continued. "And _Stiles_ —"

" _Don't_ ," I shut down with a dangerous voice, even as Jack was ready to speak over me, "talk about him to me. Don't even say his name."

"Savannah," He beseeched, leaning forward to search my face imploringly, the least hostile he'd been since we've reunited. "I'm your _brother_."

Hearing him say the words aloud reminded me of their meaning. It reminded me that the man staring back at me shared my childhood. Mourned our parents, forged the path through our younger years and set the example for me. He was a boy scout. There was a time when we competed in everything. There was a time in my life when family meant blood, and that's an _extremely_ powerful reminder.

He's done a lot to me. _So_ much. He ruined me. But blood runs deep, and each time I see his face—the face that I counted among ones I thought I'd never see again—my curiosity grew. The shock at seeing him alive has finally dwindled, and now I crave answers from him. To know what happened to him, what drove him to abandon me? To leave his life behind like it never existed, only to show up years later and demand… what? What was he asking of me?

My voice was hoarse as I leaned in just as much as him and said, " _So?"_

His eyes flashed and he grabbed my wrist tightly. "So they're _not!_ They aren't family! Me and William, we're the only thing you've got left in this world."

I snatched my hand out of his grasp and leaned back in my chair to quietly glare at him, annoyed that he would dare to hold Rex over me like that. Annoyed that at the very surface of it he had a point.

"Doesn't that mean something to you?" Jack asked, his eyes searching my face.

I looked away. "It's not that simple, Jack."

He stiffened.

"I had to rebuild my life!" I defended. "What did you expect me to do? Wait for you? You were _dead!"_

He clenched his jaw and stared back at me hard as I yelled at him.

"You died!" My voice cracked but I knew I radiated anger as I continued, my voice bellowing off the walls of the café. "I was _wrecked_ , for _months_. I lost myself and I think I died too, and those _kids_ as you call them—they…" I broke off and took a moment to frown at him. "They reminded me that I was still alive."

Jack rolled his eyes and I almost stood up and walked out right then and there. "Then I guess I owe them one."

I wish I could say his words left me unaffected. I wish I could say that I didn't grow still and become quiet; that my aching heart didn't uncoil just a fraction at the first hint of affection my brother showed me.

He looked down. "Savannah, I'm sorry that I hurt you. I never wanted to be the one to cause you to break."

 _What is this?_ I pulled my hand off the table and sat back in the chair to look him over in suspicion, unwilling to believe what he said. But he just kept his jaw tight and his eyes focused solely on me, watching me just as closely.

A muscle in his jaw jumped. "I'm your brother. I don't want to see your ruin. But you don't _belong_ with them. They're not our people, Savannah."

He's wrong. I shook my head. "And who are our people, Jack? The Alphas? _Deucalion?"_

Jack placed a hand against the tabletop. "You have no idea the person we could build you into. The power you could have—"

"Jesus, I don't want _power_ , Jack!" I cut in, and he looked at me like I'd said I believed in fairies. "I want a normal god damn life."

My simple request was alien to him. I could see that he did not comprehend where I was coming from; that he couldn't imagine wanting anything other than what he chose without hesitation. "Why?" He asked. "They're so fragile."

I blinked. And suddenly, I understood him a little more. I could understand his motivations, at least. Our childhood was ripped from us and we were left to rebuild. I chose to turn to drugs because I didn't realize there was any other option. But Jack… if I was given same option as him at the same moment, I would have taken it without batting an eye, consequences be damned. I get it now. I do.

He still couldn't fathom where I was coming from though. He thought me naïve and maybe a little bit stupid for turning him down.

"Savannah, maybe you don't see it yet," Jack told me. "But you will. Something in your life is going to break, and when it does, you'll get tired of being so fucking vulnerable. One of them will die. And when they do you'll wish you hadn't buried your head in the sand now. You'll wish you'd actually done something to take control."

"It's not that simple!" I told him. "I already have a life. I _like_ my life now."

"Do you not hear what I'm saying?" Jack besought, reaching out to touch my arm. "It's good now but it won't last. I swear it won't."

"Is that a threat?" I stiffened.

He smiled grimly. "No, Savannah. I know you. I can see that you think I don't, that I've turned into some kind of monster and completely forgotten who we are, but that couldn't be further from the truth. I remember _everything_. I remember how much you struggled the first time our lives were broken. And I'm not trying to threaten you when I say this; I'm trying to be _honest_ … My pack is not here to make friends. We have an agenda. And _somehow_ you're caught in the middle."

He shook his head as if he was still trying to wrap his mind around that, and then took his hand off my arm to grab my shoulder tightly. "I can't protect you if you're standing right in the line of fire! How can you expect to survive it again?"

I forcefully pulled away from him. "How can you ask me to stand against them?"

"I'm not!" He paused and seemed to think about it for another second, and grudgingly realized that he was doing just that. "It's not what I want for you. But I'd rather you be _alive_ than against Deucalion. Can you not see what I'm trying to say to you?"

"I don't trust you Jack," I informed him, since apparently he can't see that. His face blanked for a moment before he pulled back into his chair and seemed to resign his argument, seeing it was a lost cause. "I'm sorry."

He looked down, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke. Music had finally started to play. There were customers beginning to enter the café, and I knew that I needed to leave if I was going to make it back for cross country practice in time.

"I would say that I'm sorry about Mrs. Grady, but I know how much you hated her anyways."

The complete one-eighty in topic sent my head spinning, and I struggled to recover. His words finally registered and I frowned. "What?"

"Your foster mom," He reiterated. "Her house was filthy. I'm sorry I ever let you live there."

He'd never seen her before. I knew he never bothered to meet her; he had never even _been_ to my foster home. My blood chilled and I went quiet as I looked at him in horror. "What did you do?"

Jack stood from the table. "Don't make it necessary again, Savannah," He told me. "I know you probably hate me. I probably deserve it too. But I don't care. I don't need you to like me. As long as you're leaning on someone else, you're weak. You'll see that soon enough."

He paused just before he stepped away, something seeming to occur to him. Jack turned back to look down at me.

"Oh. Almost forgot. One more thing: tell Brooke's parents thank you for the welcome basket they sent to our apartment. Always nice to hear from new neighbors."

My head was reeling and my mouth was agape as I watched him walk out of the café, my mind struggling to comprehend what he was implying. Did Jack kill Mrs. Grady? Did he kill her because… he knew what would happen to me if she died?

Is that how he knew to find me at Scott's house?! What did he mean by Brooke's parents and the welcome basket? Is he the reason I was forced out of my home!?

* * *

I sat at the bench in the locker room, my head bent down and my elbows resting on my knees as I stared at the floor. Brooke's been quiet all morning. She joined cross-country too. She hates to run but she wants to be included, and the coach felt too bad for her to turn her away.

She's behind me still getting ready. I think she's nervous for her first practice. I tried to tell her it's literally just a group of students running around the trail, but she can't seem to stymie her nerves.

"How long should it take me to complete this?" She asked for the third time.

I pulled myself out of my thoughts and sat up to look at her. "Don't worry about that. Just pace yourself. As soon as you're finished you'll probably want to lay down. Don't. Keep walking until you catch your breath. And don't throw up."

Brooke snorted and threw a hand up. "What if I can't help it?!"

"Then don't throw up on me," I paused. "Aim for a twin."

"A twin?" She paused and then realization dawned on her face. "Oh! Which one?"

"Does it matter?" I raised an eyebrow and then frowned. "Brooke, you lock your doors at night, right?"

She blinked, obviously thrown at the change in subject. "Uh—I guess so? The front door is probably locked. We still have a security system but since it's an apartment it's not like we can have a front gate and security guards." She paused. "Or a golf cart, which is no fun."

"Lock the doors, and the windows." I told her, wanting to stress how important that was without freaking her out too much. It didn't work.

She looked at me like I had lost my mind. "We're under the penthouse," Brooke told me. "Who's going to break in through the windows? Batman?" She paused to gasp. "Do you know Batman?"

"Brooke, focus," I told her. "Just lock the fucking windows!"

She nodded, looking slightly chided as she ducked her head. I opened my mouth to apologize but coach yelled from the door for us to move our asses. The girls who still lingered near us began putting their things away and moving to the door.

Brooke continued to pepper me with questions that she felt were relevant. Is Gatorade really a good thing to drink? Shouldn't it just be water? She hasn't eaten a whole lot today, would she pass out because of that? What about her staples in her head? The doctor said she could go to practices if she wanted, but she wasn't allowed to compete at meets and coach had to keep a close eye on her, which was a source of relief for Brooke. It took some of the pressure off.

I told her she was taking this too seriously. "You don't have to _win_ everything."

She looked at me like I was crazy. "Am I supposed to lose?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to compete?" Isaac asked with a confused frown when we reached him on the track.

"I'm not," She agreed. Isaac paused and glanced at me.

"So… what are you going to try and win?"

Brooke looked at him like he was dumb. "Practice!"

He gave me a perplexed look, obviously wondering which one of us should be the one to tell her first. But I was distracted when I saw Stiles emerging from the locker rooms with Scott.

He looked tired. And when he crested the hill, our eyes met and it was like we were magnetized to each other. I moved a step forward and Stiles looked away, and I was frozen.

Confusion swept over me. I continued to stare at the side of his face as he turned to Scott and said something. Scott looked at me and offered me a sympathetic wave, and Stiles looked at the ground while they completely avoided us and went straight to the start of the track.

I was at a loss. Do I go to him? Do I give him space? I looked down, and before I could make a decision the coach blew the whistle. The students began to filter around us, each one of them setting their own pace.

Coach shouted encouragements and Isaac turned to jog backwards when neither Brooke nor I moved from our spots. Finally, he turned around to run without us.

"Savannah," Brooke squeaked. "What do we do!?"

I shook myself to clear my head and focused on her face. The other students had all taken off already. Brooke and I were the only ones left standing quite a ways away from the starting line, and Coach screeched at us to get a move on. Then he quickly amended that his command didn't apply to Brooke; Brooke should take it easy.

"Jog," I told her, and began to do just that. For the first lap or so, I helped Brooke find a rhythm. When Stiles lapped us I stared after him and forgot what I was doing. Brooke muttered something to me and I glanced at her again. "You're doing great!" I said, as I broke away to catch up with Stiles.

She panicked and called after me. I ignored her and continued until I caught up next to Stiles. He wasn't winded yet, but his cheeks were already flushed. I wondered if it had anything to do with me.

"Hey," I awkwardly greeted.

"Hey," He flatly huffed. I couldn't take my eyes off him, but it's like he was afraid to look at me.

"We should talk," I said.

" _Now?"_

He was being pretty short with me. I knew I probably shouldn't blame him, but I have to admit that I was annoyed. Worried and hurt, but also a touch annoyed. I don't need _Stiles_ to be angry or upset with me right now. I need him in my corner.

After a long moment passed of me trying and failing to come up with a response, Stiles abruptly stopped running and his breathing was short as he faced me, his arms limp at his sides. "What's been going on with you?"

"What?" I asked, caught off guard.

"I don't know!" He sarcastically cried. "Ever since that night with the betas—" He broke off and looked around in paranoia before stepping forward to continue in a lower urgent whisper. " _Betas_ , you've barely said a word to me unless it was _have you seen my bra?"_

I blinked stupidly. "We—you… you haven't said anything to me either!"

"Because I thought you needed space! I thought you would come around! Alright? Or any-freaking-thing at all!" He wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. "I'm not a mind reader Savannah! I don't know what you want. And I was up pretty much all night trying to figure out _why_ you wouldn't have told me about having to move out yourself."

"What I want is _you_ ," I told him, grabbing his hand. He was still agitated as he looked down at me but he didn't pull away. "I didn't say anything because I don't know _what_ to say."

It wasn't good enough. I know it was a poor explanation, and it had to be unsatisfying for him to hear, but it was the best I could do. Stiles shook his head and looked down the track, waiting for coach to catch us slacking. "Well that doesn't work for me."

Scared, my grip on his hand loosened. In a small voice I said, "Okay," And wondered if that meant _we_ weren't working for him. Because I swear to god, if that's what he means, I'll give up on everything. Or at least I'll want to.

He looked at me and took in my vulnerable expression with a sigh, pulling me into a hug. "Why don't you trust me?"

I pushed against his chest to look up at him in shock. "Stiles, I _do_. I trust you more than anyone else on this planet. You're the _only_ thing I trust."

He visibly softened at my words, his desperate grip on my back lessening. Stiles pulled me into another hug and I sighed and let go of some of the tension that I wasn't even aware was present. Scott's couch wasn't as soft as theirs, but I'm not totally willing to blame my sore neck on their furniture. I think I've been wound so tightly that I could've slept anywhere and I'd be sore.

"Hey!" Coach's voice cackled. "What the hell are you two doing? Is _that_ how you plan to run tomorrow?"

Stiles and I pulled away as he shouted an apology to the coach and we resumed running. For the rest of practice, we ran in stride together and took comfort at being reunited.

Afterwards, Stiles and I took lunch alone together in his jeep. Brooke gave me her new address, so I planned to stay there tonight after I made a few pitstops. But before that I needed to tell him anything he wanted to hear. I needed to show him that I wanted to fix this.

I answered all his questions. I divulged to him that the boiler room experience really did a number on me, for reasons that are difficult to put into words. If someone was holding a gun to my head though, I would say that it was because Derek mattered a great deal to me. I admitted to Stiles that I wished it weren't the case, given everything Derek and I have been through, but I didn't know how to separate myself from my feelings.

He told me that he thinks Lydia is beginning to get sucked into the supernatural world for some reason, and he's concerned about why she found that dead body. He thinks it's strange, to say the least, that she stumbled across it. I openly expressed that I was still jealous of her and he laughed and told me not to worry about it. When I looked at him skeptically, he asked if he had anything to worry about with Derek. I cringed and told him _fuck no_ and he laughed again before saying okay then. It was his way of comparing how I felt about Derek to how he felt about Lydia. It's not the same though, not even close, because he used to be enamored with Lydia—but he insists to this day that his feelings for her were nothing more than a childhood crush.

To prove it to me, he pulled me over on his lap and kissed me until I forgot Lydia's name. His hand hand snaked between my legs, and before I knew it our clothes were coming off right there in the jeep (which was a thrill in and of itself). I forgot everyone's name, even my own; everyone's but his, which I said when he got me desperate and I didn't want him to stop.

I still didn't tell him about Jack. Not because I didn't trust him, but because I didn't trust Jack. I was afraid if I told Stiles then Stiles might try to do something stupid, like confront Jack or something. And I would prefer Stiles to be kept as far away from the alpha pack and my brother as physically possible.

* * *

 **Brooke's POV**

Track practice was a totally new experience. She was woozy by the end of it, but glad that she'd actually started to participate in things like that. Isaac walked with her at the end and she found that being around him was just a little bit nerve wracking.

Okay, a lot bit nerve wracking. If she wasn't careful she might develop feelings for this boy. He's just so oblivious to how he affects people—totally unaware of his self-worth, and for some reason she wants to _make_ him see.

It struck her in the hospital. Isaac was always fun to be around because he challenged her in a way that no one else did, constantly questioning her overly enthusiastic responses and catching her off guard with probing questions that she didn't expect from him. To be honest she assumed he didn't care for her all that much.

But then he gave her the flowers. He was so shy about it, and when he gave them to her it was like he couldn't get them out of his hands fast enough, like a little boy forced to give a girl a Valentine's Day card or something. It seemed like this could easily turn into one of those situations where she reads far too much into his gestures that were meant purely platonically. But God damn if Isaac Lahey isn't the biggest flirt she's ever met.

"So you were kidnapped by the alphas too, huh?" Brooke asked him without thinking. Christ on a bike! What was _that?!_ She just wanted to start a _conversation_ —not delve into what might be the most traumatic experience of his life! She stared at him with bated breath, her lungs already burning from lack of oxygen.

"Ah…" He said. "Yeah." He raised his eyebrows and watched as she massaged a stitch in her side, her face going bright red.

"Cool, cool," She nodded, looking away and cursing herself violently in her mind. "What do you think about them?"

He stared blankly at her.

"I—I mean, they suck, right? We should make t-shirts! 'I was kidnapped by a pack of alphas and all I got were these stupid staples in my head!' Although that would really only apply to me," She laughed nervously and bounced on her heels like she was ready to run another lap. "I really liked those flowers you gave me!" Smooth recovery, Brooke. Real smooth.

Isaac glanced away and a smirk pulled at his lips, making her heart do a little flip. "You're kind of hyper, aren't you?"

"Not usually," She admitted without thinking. His eyes flew back to her and she bolted away with a slightly hysterical laugh. "It's the medicine!" She shrilly explained. "They gave me this medicine that makes me like—" Brooke threw her arms up. " _Woo!"_

"Is that why you decided to join cross-country? To get rid of all that extra energy?"

 _No_. She nodded with a large grin. "Totally!"

Isaac hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "Wanna race to that tree?"

It was a pretty childish thing to ask, but Brooke found that she actually _loved_ it. She pretended to hesitate. "I don't know, I've got an unfair advantage. I'm on a lot drugs, which is probably bad for my concussion, but probably _great_ for racing."

She didn't mean to say that. If he was surprised to learn this, he didn't outwardly show it. He looked her over and gave her an unimpressed expression. "Brooke, I think I can take you."

"Oh, right," she disguised her giddiness by touching her head. "You're—" Brooke recalled that there were still people milling about, so it wouldn't be wise to say werewolf. "A cheater! You like to cheat."

He was shocked, his mouth dropping open as he stepped closer to her. "Are you trying to say that I like to play dirty?"

She grappled to think of a coherent response, her face twisted into a dumb slack-jawed gawk as she squinted her eyes and nose at him. Panicking, she simply turned to flee in the opposite direction, her arms flailing wildly when she almost lost balance in her haste. For a moment he didn't react. She kept running and knew he would eventually give chase.

Everything that Savannah told her about pacing herself flew straight out of her head. She could hear Isaac's quick footsteps gaining on her, and she squealed in anticipation and tried to increase her speed.

He was silent behind her. He didn't call out her name as he gained on her, or declare that she cheated. Somehow this only thrilled her more. She couldn't contain a squeak of surprise when he burst past her and fluidly moved across the dirt track, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake.

She was only half way to the tree when she had to stop. Brooke bent at her side, her breathing too quick as her head spun. She was incredibly dizzy and suddenly felt faint.

Not too far off, Coach noticed. "Crap," He muttered. " _Brooke!_ What did we discuss?"

She didn't respond and was clearly holding her sides like they were about to concave or something. Finstock was already marching towards her, seeing Lahey jog over to her in concern.

He was close enough to not have to shout anymore, but he did anyways. "No sprinting! No racing! No passing out!"

She looked at him with a flushed, sweaty face, gasping for air and rolling her eyes. "I didn't pass out, though."

"Yeah, yeah, I plan to keep it that way too!" Finstock shoved Isaac away from her side to drag Brooke towards the Gatorade. "Dumb kids…"

* * *

 **Savannah's POV**

I barged straight into Derek's apartment this time. He had to buzz me in now, but at least he didn't make me pound on the door for five minutes straight before throwing me out on my ass.

The lights were basically all off. It seemed to be a passion of Derek's to live in environments that could pass for caves, and I thought of Brooke's earlier question of Batman. If anyone I knew was like Batman, Derek was the closest one.

I shoved my trivial thoughts aside and found Derek standing at the ready near the large table that we'd laid the vaults schematics out upon a few nights ago. It felt weird seeing him in here now, and I braced for him to throw things at me and scream for me to get out.

It didn't happen. Peter, Cora and Boyd were conspicuously missing. But none of that mattered. I came here for a purpose.

I strode straight past Derek and slapped a scrap of paper onto his table.

"Uh, Savannah?" He asked, watching as I jabbed a finger down at the piece of paper.

"That's the apartment building they're staying in," I told him. "I don't know their apartment number. I don't know if they're all there. I don't know if they're there now. Don't ask me how I got it."

With that, I turned to stomp back out the way I came. "Wait!" Derek called.

I turned on my heel to glare at him. "What?"

He looked concerned, which pissed me off. "How did you get this? Boyd and Cora have been trailing them all day trying to figure out where they live."

I rolled my eyes. "My brother told me." When I turned to leave again, he called my name out and was actually following me this time. "What?" I snapped.

Now that he was within reaching distance and could fully see how tired and shitty I probably looked, he came up short. Derek just looked at me and I could see a million questions passing through his eyes, but none of them were vocalized.

" _What?"_ I prodded.

"Nothing," He finally said, and stepped away. His face was turned away, his eyes focused sharply on the wall and his jaw tight. I willed him to change his mind and say more, but he didn't budge.

My eyes hardened before I turned away, his silence striking a chord within me for some reason that didn't make sense. Then again, nothing about Derek makes sense to me.

When I was just about to leave, I turned around. It was déjà vu all over again. What is it with these significant moments happening on Derek's doorstep? Last night, when it felt like I was begging Jack all over again. And now, when I'm waiting for him to nut up and say what he's actually feeling—just like I did when Isaac randomly showed up at school.

We seem to have a nasty habit for waiting until it's too late to say what we really think to each other, and I have no idea how to muster the courage to break that vicious cycle. I have no idea if it would even be worth my time. And apparently Derek doesn't either.

He turned his back to me and went to look at the address, retrieving his phone from his pocket to call his _betas_. I took a breath and slid the heavy metal door shut on the way out.

* * *

"You really didn't have to do this," Melissa told me, shaking her head. "I have a whole drawer of clothes, you have—"

She broke off when she realized she was about to say nothing. I have nothing. I smiled at her. "It's fine," I told her. "I'm used to living in one or two sets of outfits anyways. Besides, I can go back and get a fresh change at Stiles' anytime. I really don't need to keep your shirt."

Melissa looked simultaneously ashamed and humbled. She took the shirt from me and held it against her chest, and there was a pause of silence while I tried to think of how to thank her. I opened my mouth but she cut me off. "I'm just about to go into work, otherwise I would make you something warm to eat before you left."

She really is too kind. I scrunched my nose and looked over her shoulder at their kitchen that we stood in. "Got any poptarts?"

Melissa's face blanked in surprise. She quickly recovered and turned, saying she thought they did, and I laughed and quickly waved her off.

"No, no, I'm sorry," I said. "That was a really bad joke. I'm fine, Melissa, you've been too generous. It's making me uncomfortable and I say stupid things when I'm uncomfortable."

She laughed in relief, hugging the shirt tighter to her chest. "Oh, good, because I think the boys finished our poptarts this morning." Her smile and voice grew strained as she looked beyond me to the stairs that led up to their rooms. "Which is really annoying because I just _bought_ those last week."

When I laughed she broke out of her strained state to give me an exhausted smile, smoothing her hair down in its ponytail.

Suddenly, said boys were bounding down the steps. Scott had his helmet in his hand and opened the hall closet to retrieve a second one for Isaac, who followed closely behind him.

Isaac noticed me first. "When did you get here?"

"Where are you going?" Melissa's question trumped my response, and Scott barely had time to register that I was standing in his kitchen before he had to think of a quick response.

With surprising grace, he barely stuttered as he said they were going to get some Mexican food.

"Oh, good! I'm starving!" I chirped as I bounded towards them.

"Scott, with what money?" Melissa asked. "You just spent the ten dollars I gave you on gas for the motorcycle."

Scott looked guilty.

"I'm buying," Isaac declared.

Melissa had an expression on her face that asked the same question: _with what money?_ But having learned from the last rude comment she'd blurted to me, she kept her mouth shut and nodded uncertainly.

"No," Scott reassured everyone. "It's fine. I'll swing by work and pick up my check. No biggie."

Melissa seemed content with this arrangement, grinning when I flitted past the boys and commented that he better because _someone_ had to pay for me. Scott snorted and threatened to withhold his money on principle alone.

The second we were through the door I turned to Scott and grabbed his shoulder knowingly. "Where are we _really_ going?"

Scott gave me a woeful expression. "It would be pointless for me to try and convince you to leave and pretend you didn't see any of this, wouldn't it?"

I nodded somberly. "I would save my breath if I were you."

"We're going to confront Deucalion," Isaac helpfully informed me, throwing his hand up at Scott when he hit his arm. "Dude!"

"I mean," Scott said in an annoyed tone, frowning at Isaac. "At least make it sound like we have a chance!"

"What did I say?" Isaac balked, and I laughed at both of them despite the decidedly grim outlook in front of us.

"Okay," I agreed, like I had just signed my own death certificate. "Let's go beat up a blind man."

* * *

The abandoned mall was lit up really well by the moon. It seems like I just can't stay away from dark places. Good thing I have such A1 eyesight.

Scott and Isaac rode on the motorcycle, but Scott told me where it was at, and I waited for them outside before I actually went in. Hey, I'm not crazy. No _way_ would I confront that juiced up mutant alpha on my own!

For a blind man, Deucalion's stare is pretty unnerving. He stood above us on a set of escalators. His hands rested atop his cane, and when he spoke its like the air itself vibrated with tension.

"My, my," He drawled. "Is that Savannah Carmichael?"

I flinched, tossing a stunned expression to Scott. _What the hell?_ How did he know?

"Uh—yeah," Scott apologetically covered for me, though he looked equally unsettled. "I know we agreed to meet alone, sorry about that. And this is Isaac too."

"What about you?" Deucalion asked the expanse of the deserted mall behind us. I stared up at him and the silence stretched on, the three of us shifting on our feet. Awkwardly, I glanced around. "Yes, _you_. Derek. Aren't you going to introduce your betas to me?"

I bristled. Sure enough, Derek stepped out of the shadows all the way at the other end of the court, and flanking him at either side were Boyd and Cora. My heart rate kicked up along with my anxiety, because it was suddenly apparent that a bloodbath was on the horizon.

Where before I could just sense the tension buzzing through the air, now I could literally _smell_ it, and it's no wonder why. Scott tried to talk Derek down, but I could see from here that he had his war paint on and was ready to go. And by that I mean he was already shifted—which didn't leave a whole lot of room for guessing.

"If someone else dies—" Scott pled, but Derek cut him off by pointing a clawed finger up at Deucalion.

"No, him. _Just_ him."

Deucalion's eyebrows rose and he sounded vaguely amused as he mocked, "Just me? Now, how's a _blind_ man find his way into a place like this on his own?"

And finally, the other five reasons for my anxiety revealed themselves one by one.

Kali and Jack came first. Kali slid down from a pillar, the claws of her toes and hands raking off a shower of crumbled plaster and dust. The last time I'd seen her she was wearing nurse's scrubs. Now she wore black leggings, bare feet, and a black zip-up jacket with brass buttons for decoration.

She dropped to the floor and crouched at us, and she looked seriously _pissed_ to see us.

Immediately after that, my brother leapt down and landed on the ground like he was some kind of superhero, the floor cracking under his weight on impact. He wore no jean jacket tonight, having shed it in favor of his grey t-shirt underneath. His hair hung freely, brushing the tops of his shoulders, and the result cast a shadow across his face. Jack's glowing red eyes pierced mine when he looked up and Kali breathed out an eager laugh as he rose to his feet, cracking an unnerving grin at her glee.

A towering, colossal man came up the escalators behind us. I took a step back and felt my heart drop when he bared his fangs and let out an inhuman growl, coming uncomfortably close to me. Close enough that his breath blew my hair across my shoulders, and I let my eyes shift and dipped my chin to put on like I wasn't afraid, even as Scott and Isaac shuffled nervously beside me.

On the ledge overhead, the twins grinned ominously down at us, and it was hard to reconcile the demonic Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum leering down at us with the problematic twins that went to our school.

Derek roared behind me and I whirled around to see him charge towards Deucalion. Kali was prepared to defend her alpha, leaping out in her memorable attack—foot first, and delivered a staggering kick to Derek's head. He fell back and I was so distracted by the familiar assault that I wasn't ready to block the sudden punch I received to the side of my head.

I slid across the dirtied ground and stars clouded my vision. That same towering man who had given me that chill-inducing smile was headed straight for me. I lifted my legs backwards and over my head to summersault into a crouch just as he swiped at my head.

I blocked his blow with my forearm and managed to block his next hit, but when he reared back for another punch I was a beat too slow. I could see the opening at the same moment that he did. He brought his fist back and I threw my hands up and clenched my stomach muscles to brace for impact.

He hit me so hard that I flew back and started to tumble down the escalators. My arms were singing with white-hot bursting pain, and I managed to catch myself by the time I flipped over the fifth stair.

My shoulder and butt felt bruised (though my shoulder might have been a little more than just bruised) and when I managed to pick myself up I emerged back into the fold to see the man who'd just sent me toppling over the stairs grab ahold of Cora by the arm and twist it back over her shoulder, grab her by the ribs, and then twirled her quickly around, effectively snapping her joint by the shoulder. The sound of her bone cracking echoed across the mall and mixed with roars of determination and her piercing howl of agony.

If anything, the man had been _gentle_ with me. Scott screamed to my left. I whirled around and came face to face with Kali. Behind her, the twins had apparently merged into that giant werewolf mutant I'd heard so much about, and were currently handing Scott and Isaac their asses.

I crouched and yelled forcefully at Kali because I knew she wouldn't just let me stroll on past. She took a running leap towards me, and this time I was ready. I ducked and instead of receiving a kick to my chin, she grabbed me by my shoulder and dragged me back as she landed on the ground. She yanked me around and I blocked her swipe at my face. She blocked my kick, and I jumped out of range from hers. For a fleeting moment we were locked in a dance of parries and eluded hits.

Boyd suddenly mowed her down. I stepped back in shock, feeling like a pedestrian who narrowly missed a bus that hit the person walking in front of them. She tried to throw him off but his hits were relentless.

Jack had noticed and decided to intervene. He picked Boyd up and threw him off her with a ground-shaking roar that made my eyes widen in shock. Boyd snarled in response and was gearing up to attack him, but before he could so much as lift an arm Jack had already drawn back and his hand struck down like a cobra. It happened so fast that it was nearly imperceptible. Boyd collapsed in a heap on the ground and Jack turned to look at me, and in that moment, I did not recognize him.

His hand and wrist glistened with crimson blood, and on his face was a sinister grin of pure excitement, his fangs working in tandem to give him the face of a true monster.

I'll admit it. I was afraid. My mouth was slack and I stared in horror down at Boyd's still form, and when Kali turned to me I flinched. She started forward and Jack's bloodied hand flashed out to block her path. He had his back turned to me now, so I saw nothing but the back of his head and his coiled back muscles, tight and ready to strike with his hand hovering in warning to Kali. She looked up at him like he'd already struck her, but he didn't budge.

Angrily, she stepped away.

A hand twisted into the back of my hair without warning, and I was suddenly yanked backwards across the dirty floor again. I immediately started clawing at the meaty paw that dragged me across the ground, yowling in rage as I kicked my feet out to try and find purchase against the stone.

The man who's owned my ass the entire time threw me at his feet. Before I could get up he lifted his hand back and swung out, his knuckles connecting with the bone of my cheek in a blow that was altogether demeaning. He didn't use claws. He didn't use brute force, or anything werewolf-enhanced at all. Just the back of his hand cracking against my cheekbone and effectively beating me into submission.

I glared up at him and was ready to attack when Deucalion spoke. "Kill him. The rest can go."

My heart jumped in my throat as I whipped around to see whom he was talking to, and whom he was talking about. Derek gazed down in horror at Boyd, who was apparently not dead. Boyd was covered in blood and it was difficult to tell where he was wounded. It had to be somewhere between the neck and the chest, but he was still pushing up from the ground where he had been laid out to look over his shoulder at Derek in fright.

This was sickening. Deucalion was trying to force Derek to kill one of his betas in order to become more like them. "You're beaten," Deucalion continued, descending the escalator. I started to get up but the man easily shoved me down to the ground by the shoulder and frowned down at me when I snarled. "Do it, Derek. Take the first step."

"Are we _serious_ with this kid?" Kali sneered. She had her foot pressed firmly over Cora's neck—which I knew firsthand was _not_ a good position for Cora to be in—and Kali laughed bitterly before she continued. "Look at him. He's an alpha?" She laughed again. "To what? A couple of useless teenagers."

I struggled against the man, only stilling when his claws dug painfully into my shoulder. Jack was peering at me meaningfully from nearby, between us and where the twins held Scott and Isaac. He was raising his eyebrows as if to say, _see? See what you're up against? What you've chosen? Do you see now?_

I turned away as Deucalion cryptically declared that some of us had more promise than others. "Let him rise to the occasion, then," Kali suggested. "What'll it be, Derek? Family… or pack?"

The question resonated with me, for it was such a similar ultimatum to the one that had been delivered to me just this morning. Jack was challenging me to make the same choice. And after tonight, after going head to head with the alpha pack in what could easily have been a merciless slaughter, I had much more context with which to view his proposition.

It was obvious to me now, the answer I held in my heart. I could never pledge myself to the six werewolves that held us by the throats here in this dank, stale building. How could this fate be preferred to living? How could my brother look at each of these monsters and proudly count himself among them?

In a random moment of thought, I suddenly understood why the Argents did what they did. Why so many generations of humans have been dedicated for centuries to put an end to our race. Because they're right. This is not natural. This is not _right_. This is a sickness, and it has infected someone I loved, and it is threatening to take another.

I can see it by the look on Derek's face. I know that if he's forced to choose between his sister and Boyd, he will not really see much of a choice at all. I have a horrible feeling they actually won't let him stop with Boyd. I have a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that I will never leave this place alive. Or maybe I'll be forced to kill one of them—which one? The twins? Kali? The man who's broken my bones over and over again tonight? Or my brother? How poetic would that be…

There was a whistle that cut through the air, zooming past my head and sailing straight into the twins' shoulder. Standing in the light of the ledge with her bow in her hand was Allison. She shot down another on the ground right in the middle of us all, and the alphas—who had apparently never seen an exploding arrow before—screamed in surprise and threw their hands up to block their eyes.

"Your eyes," Deucalion knowingly warned to his pack, which caused me to turn toward him in confusion. I had to clap my hand over my face when an arrow crashed between us, but I was able to see him looking over us all. "Cover your eyes!"

How could he see? How could he see to know to warn them of that?

I had no time to dwell on it. Allison continued to rain down bursts of blinding light, which afforded me enough time to roll away from the mountain wolf's reach.

When the arrows stopped and the mall was flooded with darkness again, we pulled together. While the alphas watched on in a slight daze, Cora and Derek pulled Boyd to safety. Scott turned to the man who'd been hounding me and let out a furious roar.

I watched as they charged each other and couldn't comprehend it when Scott clashed against him and didn't immediately get blasted back from the impact. They collided like two boulders thundering together, instantly forced back apart as they stumbled across the floor—and for a moment, Scott's eyes glowed alpha red.

Then he ducked his head and gave it an overcome shake, and when he looked back up it was gone and his eyes were yellow again.

I filed that away for later. Derek attacked the man from behind and I backed away towards Isaac, who grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the mix and farther to the edge of the walls with him, Boyd and Cora.

Derek tried to fight against the man—and by all accounts he should have had a lot more luck than he did. After all, Scott just went head to head with the guy, and he held his own. But the man knocked Derek back like a bowling pin, sending him rolling across the cement floor with a huge gash across his chest.

I stepped forward but was stopped by Isaac's hand on my wrist.

Derek shook it off and got to his feet, and when he did the man stepped forward and roared at him. He charged Derek without a second thought.

Derek was able to meet him half way and they locked arms like rams locking horns. They spun around, pushing against each other as they struggled across the floor and grew dangerously close to the edge, where at some point there must have been a safety railing, but now there was nothing to protect them from falling. The man seemed manic— _furious_ as he and Derek desperately struggled against each other for dominance.

Scott saw an opening and took it. He thought he was helping, but this dance was familiar to me. The precarious teetering that the alphas engaged in was like a game of balance—the smallest push could send them toppling over the side and sailing to the ground many floors below.

I felt a horrific sense of déjà vu grip me—more violent than any of the others I'd recently experienced—and a gasp tore from my throat before I could help it. Scott swiped his claws out, cutting through the man's Achilles tendon. The man threw his head back and howled in pain, which gave Derek the perfect opportunity. He swung their arms around and shoved him towards the edge—but he underestimated the man's grip.

Isaac couldn't hold on to me as I flew across the floor—intercepted and picked up off the ground before I could actually get too close. But I saw. I saw everything, as Jack restrained me from doing something stupid like jumping after them. Derek realized what was happening much too late—and the look on his face was an expression I knew well.

He was all at once stunned and afraid. His locked gazes with Scott, his eyes wide as saucers and completely helpless as the man dragged him down and over the edge more effectively than a trash bag of cinderblocks.

Jack never let me go and I couldn't see over the edge. My mouth was frozen in an unshed scream, and I couldn't see what happened but I could hear it. I could _hear_ as one of their backs broke, or maybe both. I struggled against the iron grip of my brother to see if I could figure out which one it was, but even without looking I knew. Something happened and Jack suddenly decided to let me go.

Maybe he wanted to see how I would react. Maybe he wanted to torture me, or this was some sick way of pushing me closer to joining his pack in his mind. If I saw one of mine die—just as he had predicted this morning—would I finally break?

I saw down below and the images clashed in my mind, flickering between Jack lying broken and bleeding on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff and Derek—broken and bleeding on the escalators. The sight seared the back of my eyelids before I was overwhelmed, and an arm caught me as I passed out.


	71. Humpty Dumpty

_**It's been a while, boys and girls... I apologize for that. My summer was quiet and it was like nothing happened at all, and then classes started back up and BLAM! Everything was happening at once. But I have this three day weekend now, so in the middle of catching up with my friends who are back in town for a bit and also trying to catch up on some studying/sleep, I had the opportunity to write this chapter. Which, actually, this one was a lot of fun to write.**_

 _ **I tried something a little different with Brooke's character. I hope you guys like it! She's such a unique character, I can introduce new things to the group using her that literally no one else in the Teen Wolf universe could pull off. Hopefully you enjoy it.**_

 _ **Thank you guys so much for all the reviews and the favorites/follows! You're too good to me :) And as always, if you're new: welcome. If you're a veteran: welcome back. And either way, I hope you enjoy...**_

 _ **(Please leave a review letting me know!)**_

* * *

Lonely shadows following me  
Lonely ghosts come a-calling  
Lonely voices talking to me  
Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone...

Oh gimme that fire!  
Oh gimme that fire!  
Oh gimme that fire!  
Burn, burn, burn...

Ghosts and devils come a-calling  
Calling my name oh, lost in the fire...

\- _Fire, by Barnes Courtney_

* * *

"Are you okay?" Scott asked. I blinked and looked away from the zippo lighter in my hand. I must have taken Officer Jefferson's lighter when I bummed that cigarette from him in the alley a few days ago. It's white, and it's been used a lot.

Coach forced Stiles to sit alone towards the very front of the bus because he made Jared throw up earlier. Actually, he made him sit in the seat that Jared threw up in. It had been cleaned by the bus driver but you could no doubt still smell it. Stiles has basically been riding the whole time with his head out the window. Coach stopped yelling at him to get his butt in the seat hours ago, settling for shrilly blowing the whistle whenever he noticed Stiles doing it.

So right now I sat in the seat in front of Allison and Scott by myself, lost in my thoughts as the moonlit landscape rolled by the windows.

I pocketed the lighter and turned to give Scott a dry look. "You almost died earlier because of a wound that an alpha gave you, and you're asking _me_ if I'm okay?"

Scott's face didn't shift from its concerned expression, but he did look away. "I'm good," He dismissed with his eyes briefly peeking at Allison. She pressed her lips together silently as he continued. "No, really! I'm a lot better. I think the stitches are really helping."

I wanted to comment on the fact that he needed stitches at _all_ —but that would be redundant because we were all thinking it. So I just raised an eyebrow at him and kept my trap shut.

Scott gestured at me. "But _you_ didn't get slashed by an alpha—and no offense, Savannah, but you look worse than me."

I took in his pallid complexion and slightly ripe scent. He looked indisputably better than he did around four o'clock this afternoon. The sheen of sweat across every inch of his skin had dried and his hair didn't look gross anymore, and the color was slowly but surely returning to his lips. But still, he looked like he should be hooked up to an IV and on bed rest. And he says _I_ look worse than him.

"Thanks." My voice was flat and expressed the opposite of gratitude.

"I just mean that I'm worried about you! You've barely said two sentences all day besides when you went to pull Isaac off of Ethan."

I lifted Scott's tablet in my hand and wagged the illuminated screen at him. "Hello! We've been quizzing each other on vocab the entire bus ride, what are you talking about?"

Scott's expression fell and he gave me an unimpressed look. I shrugged irritably and he said, "Studying doesn't count, Savannah."

"Okay, _Scott_ ," I growled. "What do you want from me?"

Now that the question was out there and he was forced to make his point, Scott hesitated. He struggled to find the right words as his mouth hung open and he shrugged in frustration. "I don't know! I'm just worried! I mean… you know you can talk to me, right?"

My eyes unconsciously flashed to Allison and Scott reached out to touch my shoulder.

"Hey," He gently said to regain my attention. "You can trust her."

I snorted and Allison scoffed back at me, and we glared at each other for a moment before Scott came between us again.

"She helped us! Remember?"

My mind flashed back to Allison standing atop the ledge in the abandoned mall, shooting arrows down one after the other and affording us enough time to escape the alphas' eager clutches. I remember how helpless I felt before she showed up, how desolate my thoughts had been. If she hadn't come…

I looked away from Allison and withdrew to sink down in my seat without commenting further.

"Scott, it's fine," Allison reassured him in a slightly bitter tone. "She obviously doesn't want to be helped."

My body stiffened. Before I could say a word, the bus pulled off the road and began to navigate through the parking lot of a seedy motel. Everyone turned their faces to the neon sign that loomed overhead as we came to a stop. _Glen Capri_ , it read.

"Please tell me Jared has to vomit again and that's why we're stopping," Lydia whispered with dread to Allison.

Allison exchanged an uncertain glance with Scott and they watched as I jumped from my seat and left them behind to make my way up to Stiles. I shoved a student back into their seat when they started to step in my way, and I could feel them giving me a dirty look as I continued past.

Stiles was already standing, his head ducked slightly to avoid the roof of the bus as he watched me and waved at me to hurry up before the coach noticed.

Brooke had gone to sit with Isaac after everything that happened with Ethan. When it seemed like Scott was seconds away from dying, Isaac went ballistic on Ethan, blaming him for the wound that Scott was about to succumb to. I pulled him off before any death blows could be dealt but Isaac wouldn't stop going after him until Scott came out of the restroom on his own two feet to reassure him he was okay. From that moment forward, Brooke hadn't left Isaac's side.

She flagged me on my way over to Stiles and I stopped to talk to her.

"Savannah!" She happily chirped and suddenly pulled me into a hug. She'd been frequently doing that after she found out about Derek, and I accepted her hugs with gritted teeth and a mechanical pat. "Where are you going?"

As I pulled away I looked back at Stiles and he impatiently waved his hand, visibly annoyed at Brooke for intercepting me. "Uh… I was just going to…" My thumb hooked over my shoulder and Brooke nodded in understanding, though I could tell by the look on her face that she was expecting us to stick together tonight.

I sighed and Isaac spoke up. "Hey Brooke, I was thinking when we got to the rooms we could play that card game you told me about."

I noticed how Brooke gave Isaac her undivided attention and instantly brightened at his suggestion, her eyes singing in delight and amusement. "Tarot cards aren't a game, Isaac, it's a reading."

"Okay then, you can _read me_ if that's what you really want," He teased as he shot me a surreptitious expression over her shoulder that signaled me to go. I mouthed a quick thank you and darted away as Brooke launched into another explanation about her tarot cards she'd apparently decided to bring with her for whatever reason.

I was still stuck on the thought of Brooke using tarot cards when I reached Stiles, so when he pulled me down into the seat beside him and complained about being alone and enduring the stench that still stuck to the leather seats, I was only half paying attention.

Stiles' voice pulled me from my confused thoughts. "You should get some sleep when we get to the room," He told me. "You look really tired."

"That's the nice way of telling your girlfriend she looks like shit, isn't it?" I grinned, and Stiles easily shook his head.

"No I mean you look exhausted."

My eye twitched in annoyance as Stiles continued.

"I mean your hair is a mess, your clothes—when was the last time you changed your clothes? Are those still the same ones you fought the alphas in last night?"

They were actually the same clothes from before I left his house. I still had this weird mental block about changing my clothes—this intense irrational fear that it would somehow symbolize the end of my relationship with the Stilinskis. I know it doesn't make sense. But it feels true.

My quiet, brooding non-answer caught Stiles' attention. He saw the expression on my face and how I wouldn't look at him, and he quickly started back tracking. "I still don't understand how despite everything I just said you're still the prettiest girl I've ever seen. I mean, it's not natural Savannah. "

I cracked a grin and rolled my eyes at his cheesy declaration and he looked back at me openly, unafraid to show me how much he believed what he was saying. How he really looked at me and saw something beautiful. Unable to maintain eye contact, I looked away again and focused on the leather of the seat in front of us.

Stiles reached out to brush some of my hair over my shoulder and the action was almost too much for me to take; I'd spent the entire day holding the crushing grief at bay that threatened to overwhelm me. It somehow felt wrong to let myself lean into his touch and succumb to the peace that filled me when Stiles was near. I shouldn't feel happy. Derek could be dead.

Stiles moved his hand down from my shoulder to my back, placing it there in comfort or support; I couldn't be sure which. Then, as a testament to how fast Stiles' mind moves and how difficult it can be to tell what he's thinking, he said, "Your brother has a history of violence, right?"

I frowned at him. "My brother… the alpha?" Is there really a question of violence to be had?

He paused. "Yeah, that one." He squinted an eye at me. "Is there… do you have another one?"

I snorted and shook my head. "No, one brother is more than enough." Stiles was still waiting for my answer so I scrunched my eyebrows together and considered his question. "I mean… even before he became the guy I saw last night, he was always getting into trouble. Fights and stuff, on the streets, in school."

"Why?" Stiles wanted to know. "Who did he fight?"

"Anyone. People who wanted to, people who pissed him off. Sometimes for money and other times just for his amusement."

Stiles eyebrows rose smartly. "For his amusement?" He sarcastically nodded as he withdrew his hand from my back.

"And, sometimes just because," I shrugged. Stiles gaped at me and I ran a hand through my hair. "But I mean, fighting is like a hobby or a skill for him. Some people garden… Jack fights."

Stiles was just staring at me, his eyes flickering all across my face as in disbelief. A moment passed before he finally said, "Okay, you don't find that disturbing?"

I cracked an amused grin and shrugged. "Not really. I'm used to it."

Stiles sat back and looked me over more carefully, as if mentally readjusting what he thought he saw when he looked at me. "Actually that doesn't surprise me."

I scoffed and was ready to comment further when the coach suddenly blew his whistle and ordered us all off the bus.

* * *

 **Brooke's POV**

Coach decided that there would be "no co-ed rooms" tonight. So, boys with boys, girls with girls. Brooke knew this was a deterrent for _sexual perversions_ , as Coach had put it… but the thing is, gender won't necessarily hinder sexuality. Danny and Ethan are going to share a room and it's already a given that they would get up to some _deviant behavior_ , as the coach had so eloquently put it.

But whatever. The resulting rooming arrangements went: Savannah and Brooke, Scott and Stiles, Isaac and Boyd, and Allison and Lydia.

Savannah went to the room that she and Brooke would share with plans to take a long, hot shower. Brooke was happy at that thought because—and she would never say this to Savannah's face—but Savannah was really starting to smell like a foot. And when she ascended the steps to their room, unlike the rest of the students that broke apart and went to their rooms, Savannah honestly looked right at home at the sleazy motel.

Isaac suggested his room for the card reading. They agreed that Savannah seemed to need some time apart from others. She already looked on the verge of snapping or breaking.

Boyd was indifferent and unenthused about Brooke joining. She asked him if it would be okay, and he barely looked at her in response before he walked away. Brooke stared after his lumbering form and when she looked at Isaac, he simply shrugged and told her to ignore him.

Boyd sat on his bed nearby, staring at the wall facing away from them. Brooke tried not to focus on him too much.

There were minimal decorations in the room. She was honestly surprised to even find the cheap curtains that hung from the windows and the ancient, outdated bed skirt that lined the squeaky beds.

Brooke dreaded to think of the stains and possible bed bugs that infested the beds, and turned away from them even as Isaac went to sit on the foot of his. She looked up at the wall and grabbed the three candles that sat on top of a shelf.

They were the only decorations in the room. Over by the television were a few more, so she grabbed those too. They'd all been lit at some point or another, but the ones from the shelf were older and had a coat of dust on them.

She blew the dust off and did her best to clear it away from the wick. When she sat on the carpeted floor and started to arrange them around her, Isaac voiced his uncertainty. "Maybe we should go do it in the bathroom," He suggested. "What if one of them falls over? The carpet will catch on fire."

Brooke shrugged a shoulder. It was important for Isaac to feel comfortable while she did his reading; otherwise it may not be accurate. If moving the open flames away from flammable surfaces made him more at ease then that's where they would do it. "That's fine too, but if a cockroach runs across those tiles you're on your own."

Isaac smirked and got up from the bed to lead the way to the bathroom. "Maybe you could give it a reading."

As they left the still silent Boyd in the room alone, Isaac turned the bathroom light on and shut the door. Brooke continued to ponder a cockroach's tarot reading aloud as she placed the candles beside her on the floor, and Isaac would make the occasional comment about it that made her laugh. She pulled the white lighter out of her pocket that Savannah had given her before leaving to shower.

If Isaac was surprised to see that Brooke had a lighter, he didn't say anything. It was a trait she noticed in him. Isaac will ask anyone inappropriate questions all the time; questions that Brooke wouldn't even think to bring up. But then when Brooke does something weird that most people would want an answer for, Isaac just leaves her alone. Is it because it doesn't matter to him in a good way, or a bad way? She couldn't tell just yet.

Once the candles were lit she grabbed the deck of cards and told Isaac to turn out the lights. He hesitated. "If we turn out the lights, then can I open the door?"

She looked at him in surprise. He didn't like to feel confined, she realized. Brooke glanced at the door and shrugged a shoulder. "I wasn't the one who closed it."

"Well if this turns out to be like reading my diary then I don't want Boyd listening in," Isaac tried to joke as he went to open the door. Brooke felt her heart lift at the unspoken implication that Isaac didn't even realize he'd admitted: he apparently wouldn't mind if _Brooke_ heard what the tarot cards had to say.

He flipped the switch and although the light from the room still spilled in through the open doorway, the candles' glow was just enough to make for a relaxing ambiance. At least she hoped it was relaxing. She supposed that in this dingy bathroom it could be interpreted as an eerie atmosphere, too.

"Sit there." Brooke pointed across from herself and Isaac sighed reluctantly as he went to do what she said.

After he was settled, he looked up at her and waited for further instruction. His curly hair was falling onto his forehead, and in the flickering glow of the candle flames, his eyes looked like molten silver. Softer than she was used to. Their grey-blue color was usually hard, like a tall steel metal fence that blocked everyone from seeing what he really thought. He seemed slightly uncomfortable but surprisingly trusting as he shifted on the floor and wiped his hands down his jeans. "Brooke?"

She jumped in surprise and fought back a hot blush, hastily laying the deck between them. "Uh, okay, so just breathe your energy into the deck."

Isaac stared blankly at her, his hands going still over the cards he held. "What?"

She laughed. Then, thinking it would be easier to just show him, she leaned forward and pulled his hands to her face. He froze and seemed to stop breathing as he watched her cup his hands and blow into them, their eyes locked.

Butterflies erupted in Brooke's stomach and she couldn't look at him as she quickly let go of his hands and scrambled back into her own spot, mortified that she'd just done that. "But you have to do it now," She explained as she cleared her throat and nervously scratched at the side of her head. "Blow your energy onto the cards."

Isaac licked his lips and finally looked away from her face, sighing as he held the cards between his hands like she had just done. He brought them up to his mouth and did what she did, though she could tell by the look on the face that he thought it was crazy.

He looked back up at her expectantly.

"Now shuffle them," She tugged at the cashmere fabric of her turtleneck dress and prayed that he couldn't sense how flustered he made her.

Isaac reached down and began to shuffle the cards clumsily, clearly unused to the motion. "Like this?" He asked, and she almost cooed at how awkward he clearly felt.

It was the choppiest way she'd ever seen someone shuffle a set of cards, and she decided that he must not do it very often. "That works," she told him with a small smile.

He sighed and shifted again and she covered her grin with her hand and waited for him to do it a few more times before she told him to stop.

"Okay," She said. "Now, think of what's currently bothering you the most in your life. Think of whatever you really need guidance for. Something that you just can't seem to figure out, or something that feels out of your control."

Isaac blinked and looked down, an unreadable expression crossing his face. A few moments passed as he thought it over. The faucet of the sink beside them dripped methodically, but it wasn't an imposing sound. It was almost lulling and hypnotizing. Brooke felt completely relaxed for a moment as she waited for Isaac to figure out his question. Finally, he nodded and looked up at her with a thoughtful frown. "Got it," He told her.

"Okay," She said. "Now think of it while you cut the deck."

Once he finished and the deck was lying face down on the tiles between them, Brooke told him they'd just do a simple three-card spread. She told him to draw three cards and lay them beside each other horizontally face down.

"It goes: Past, Present and Future," She explained, motioning to each card in order as she told him. Brooke picked up the first one, for past. "The Tower," She told him. Across the front was a tower that was struck by lightning and on fire, and people were jumping from its windows.

"What does that mean?" Isaac asked with something that sounded like a cross between amusement and nervousness. "It looks… chaotic."

"It is," She admitted. "The Tower usually means disaster or a sudden change. And I mean… there was a sudden change recently, wasn't there? Derek… Or this could also be talking about any other huge change in your life. The alpha pack, getting the bite, or even your dad dying. Whichever possibility relates to the question you thought of is probably what it means. Only you can really know."

Isaac, if he hadn't been taking it seriously before, seemed a little disarmed at the accurate reading. Brooke raised her eyebrows and cleared her throat. She decided that she'd let the cards speak for themselves after that and picked up the one to represent present.

"This one is Nine of Swords," She said. It had the image of someone sitting up in bed with their head in their hands, clearly upset by something. Behind them on a wall were nine swords hanging in decoration. "It might represent anxiety and nightmares."

Isaac was definitely taking it serious now. He looked unnerved and his mouth was flattened into a firm line. In that moment, Isaac's face was completely unguarded as the card made him think of something. He looked afraid.

Brooke didn't know this, but ever since they'd come into the motel Isaac had been overwhelmed with a plaguing sense of anxiety. It felt exactly how he used to feel while he was at home with his father. Like his father was looming just over his shoulder, ready to yell at him for something.

He didn't comment on the card, but looked up at Brooke grimly as if he was eager to move on and get the rest of the reading over with. There was only one card left, and then they'd be finished.

Brooke picked up the last card. This one was for his future.

It had an angel on it with two cups in its hands, a stream of water going from cup to cup. The angel had one foot in water and one foot on dry land. "Temperance," She told him. "But it's reversed."

Isaac looked up at her with a frown. "What does that mean?"

"When Temperance is upright it means balance. When it's reversed, it means the opposite. Since this is the future reading, it means that you're on the verge of making a decision that could unbalance your life. It means because something in your life is going wrong then you're itching to take an impulsive path that might end up making everything worse."

Isaac's hands were in fists, and Brooke had a nagging suspicion that whatever Isaac had been thinking to do likely involved the twins. She saw the way he went after Ethan outside the rest stop earlier.

She reached out in the glowing light of the candles to touch his knee. "Isaac, I don't know what you're struggling with, and I realize that you probably think these cards are just stupid... But you have to admit that they're giving you good advice. If you take anything away from this at all, then at least take the advice that this last card is giving. You need to be careful."

He sighed and before he could say anything else, a door slammed outside the bathroom. Isaac quickly stood up and rushed into the room to see what was going on.

"Boyd's gone," Isaac told her as he flicked the bathroom light back on. "Where do you think he went?"

Brooke gathered her cards back together. "I don't know."

* * *

 **Savannah's POV**

I stepped up to the aged sink in the bathroom. The towels all looked yellowed with age and felt like they'd been used a few times and simply refolded and placed back on the rack, so I elected to skip using a towel and air dry. It was uncomfortable but better than using one of those towels that had god-knows-what-diseases embedded in them.

The mirror squeaked as I wiped the steam away. I sighed when I looked at my reflection. There were dark circles under my eyes. My skin, which was usually warmed with a tan, had paled to a sickly tone. And it might just be my pessimism speaking, but I look like I've lost ten pounds in the past week. Eating hasn't exactly been a priority of mine.

My cheekbones were more prominent than they'd been in a while. I look like the girl I'd come to be about a year ago, sans-brittle-hair, which hung thick and wet around my shoulders. Truthfully it could probably use a cut.

Something in the corner of the mirror moved. I looked and saw Derek's form looming in the doorway of the bathroom. My heart jumped in my throat and I whirled around, nearly slipping on the wet floor in the process. But when I looked at the doorway there was no one there.

My heart raced in my chest. I could feel its beat thrumming in my neck, and the water that still dampened my bare skin chilled to an uncomfortable sensation.

I ran my hand through my wet hair to push it out of my face with a heavy sigh. My hands shook as I went into the room to grab the clothes I had intended to wear to the meet: my burgundy jersey and shorts.

I thought as long as the coach didn't see me wearing them tonight, it would be all right to sleep in them. I put the clean clothes on and decided to use my jacket to towel-dry my hair since I was so cold. The room felt unnaturally cool, like the motel had completely skipped insulation when they constructed the rooms, or like all the windows were open. So I was just going over to turn on the heater in the bathroom when I heard a shrill phone ringing from my bag.

I turned with a frown and moved back towards the bag. The ringing is obviously coming from inside. There's no other phone in the room. There's not even a phone for the front desk in here.

Hesitantly, I pulled the bag open and dug through its contents until I found the chunky silver phone I thought I'd dropped in the vault.

When I picked it up I frowned at the name on the screen. Derek.

I quickly answered. "Hello?" I asked in panic. "Derek!?"

I couldn't hear anything except for a low laugh. It wasn't even human—at least, it didn't sound like it. The urge to hang up was almost impossible to resist… until I heard the sound of someone gurgling cut through the phone, like they were lying on the ground with a mouthful of blood.

"Derek!" I exclaimed as the gurgling continued, the jacket falling to my feet. "Hello?! Who is this?"

I could hear the gurgling cut for a moment, like someone grabbed his throat. The laughing stopped. Then the gurgling continued in a strain. It sounded like there was a struggle, and after that there was silence. No laughter. No breathing, not anything.

"Derek!" I cried. " _Derek!"_

"—Savannah?" Stiles' voice asked in outright concern. Except not from the phone—from nearby, but muffled. "Open the door!"

"What?" I blinked and turned around. Suddenly, I could hear the sound of someone frantically pounding at the door. They'd been pounding for a while. Had he been knocking the whole time? Was that entire phone call… did it happen?

"That's it! I'm coming in!" The pounding stopped. I dropped the phone in confusion and panic. I jumped at the sound of someone throwing themself against my door, followed by the familiar pained grunt of Stiles.

My terror lifted and I almost smiled in relief. "Stiles!" I hurried to the door, the sound of his footsteps briefly receding as he backed up and braced to charge again. "Stiles, stop!"

I went to unlock it, but the chain still hung loosely beside the frame. The door was unlocked. I simply yanked the door open and scrambled back just as Stiles barreled through the doorway with a shout of surprise.

He landed in a heap on the ground and for a moment he just lay there and groaned. I stood in the open doorway with my mouth hanging open.

"Why—" Stiles started. "Why didn't you answer the door?"

I looked back to the jacket on the floor, where I'd been standing when I dropped the phone. "I didn't hear you knocking…"

Stiles sat up and threw his hands out at me. "I could hear you talking to someone though! What were you doing?"

"I—I thought my phone rang. When I answered it, I thought I…" I trailed off and looked back at the jacket. "It sounded like…"

Stiles waved his hand impatiently to signal me to finish my sentence. "A telemarketer? Ed McMahon?"

"What?" I said, shaking my head. "No. It sounded like Derek."

"Derek?" Stiles shook his head. "Wait a minute; I thought you lost your phone in the vault?"

I helped him sit up and once he was standing I went to the jacket to pick it up and shake it out. But the phone never fell out of it. Pausing, I turned and looked all around on the floor. "It was here…" I insisted, looking up at Stiles' slowly closing expression. I gestured with the jacket. "It was right here!"

"Okay, let's sit down—" Stiles paused from coming to take me by the shoulders and looked me over. "Is that your jersey?"

"Stiles!" I exclaimed. "Help me find the phone!"

"Savannah," Stiles shook his head. "It's not here!"

"It is!" I pushed him away and dropped to the floor to look under the bed. "It's probably—under… here… somewhere…"

He watched me frantically searching under the bed, swatting away the dust and crumbs and miscellaneous items that stuck to my arm and hand as I dug under the bed. A moment passed of just my frantic searching, my panic growing, until finally he offered, "Do you want me to call it?"

"Yes," I breathed in relief. I sat back and frowned up at him. He doesn't believe me, and for a moment there he made me feel crazy. It's not how we usually do things. But now he's calling my phone, and as I stare up at him and look at him with his phone pressed to his ear, he shook his head and pulled his phone down to tap at the screen.

"It went straight to voicemail."

I deflated where I sat on the floor and looked around, helpless. "But I… I had it! Before you came in, I was using it. It was in my bag. I swear! It's probably stuck somewhere; it probably fell. Or I kicked it when I ran to open the door for you."

"Okay, Savannah, come on," Stiles kneeled down to help me stand up. I shook him off and took a few steps back, pissed that he was treating me like I was feeble or unwell. He didn't seem put off by my resistance and gestured to the door. "Let's get out of this room. It's creepy in here. Besides, Scott and I were wanting to talk to you."

* * *

"Is that your jersey?" Scott asked as soon as we stepped into their room.

"Don't ask," I told him tiredly. Scott looked at Stiles in question over my shoulder, but Stiles just shook his head. When Scott noticed my mood, he put a frustrated hand out to Stiles in question as I went to sit on one of their beds. Stiles muttered that he'd tell him later.

I tried to mentally shake off the experience I just had back in my room, having chalked it up to a stress-induced hallucination. With a heavy sigh I fell back on the bed and waited for them to start talking.

"Okay…" Scott started uncertainly. He lingered near the door while Stiles went to pace by the bed I laid on.

Stiles took control of the conversation from there. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm pretty sure those sacrifice killings are far from over."

I pinched my nose and stamped down the irritation and dread that flared inside at the reminder that there was in fact _more to worry about_. I had honestly forgotten about the killings in the wake of everything else going on.

Stiles and Scott ignored me as they carried the discussion. "Maybe," Scott said. "Or maybe the killer got everything they needed."

"Scott, do you even know what sacrifice killings are for?" Stiles asked him. "They're performed to give power to whatever is sacrificing them. And the sacrifices don't stop until enough power is drawn—and what do you think will happen when whoever it is has enough power?"

There was a long pause as Scott mulled it over. "I don't know, Stiles. What?"

"Chaos!" Stiles erupted. "Pandemonium! Death, destruction…" As he went on, his exclamations lost steam until finally he admitted, "I don't exactly know yet. First we need to figure out who's doing it. Then we can figure out why."

"I know you already have a list, so let's hear it," I muttered from my spot on the bed, and Stiles launched into his suspects.

"Derek's sister, Cora." Stiles started with. "No one knows anything about her, and… she's Derek's sister."

"Unlikely," I dismissed, thinking back to how her skills when we fought. "She's not cunning or subtle at all, she would have been caught by now. And wasn't she being held captive with Boyd in the vault for the first three killings? She couldn't think straight enough to look up and see me waiting for her in a tree, let alone carry out a threefold death ritual _three_ times without anyone noticing it was her."

Stiles sighed in irritation and waved his hands. "Fine! Next, Scott's boss."

Scott perked up. "My boss?"

I scrunched my face to peek at Stiles. "Deaton?"

"Yeah, I don't… really like the whole Obi Wan thing he's got going on with you. It freaks me out."

Scott's blank stare was telling, and before Stiles could scold him for not watching Star Wars yet I interrupted. "Stiles, you're just listing people you don't trust," I accused. He balked and I pressed on. "Which, honestly, is a lot of random people. But Dr. Deaton really doesn't make sense. He's too… benevolent."

"Alright, I don't hear _you_ throwing out any ideas!" Stiles cried as he gestured flippantly at me.

Jaw clenched, I easily said, "Morrell."

Everyone in the room went quiet. Stiles was staring slack jawed at me as his mind visibly raced with the possibility.

I looked at Scott as I justified my person. "She's already betrayed us once. She works with the alphas, but she's not with them all the time. She randomly knew Latin, she's really smart, and she has like six degrees in psychology or something. She can be cold and she can distance herself from a situation really easily. And I really don't trust her, if I'm honest."

"Huh," Stiles hummed. "Actually that… that's a good point."

"I wouldn't rule her out," Scott agreed.

"Who else?" I asked Stiles.

"Well now I'm a little reluctant," Stiles admitted with no small ounce of petulance. "You're just going to tear down whoever I say and give me a million reasons why they can't be the killer."

"Well, isn't that what this discussion is for?" I asked. "Isn't this to narrow down your suspect list? Otherwise what's the point of investigating it?"

"Alright!" Stiles sighed and suddenly looked tired and maybe just a bit guilty. "Lydia."

I turned my head to look away from the ceiling. Stiles came to sit beside me on the foot of the bed, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. I reached out and touched his back like he'd done to me earlier, offering comfort or support; I still couldn't tell which. Now that I wasn't the receiver I realized it was intended to be a soothing mixture.

He softened slightly at my touch, his shoulders losing some of their tension as he explained himself.

"Lydia was totally controlled by Peter and she had no idea, so…"

I nodded and continued to rub his back quietly. "Well what if it's Peter again? Then it really isn't Lydia's fault, is it?"

My words did little if anything to lighten Stiles' mood. He sighed and shrugged. "Maybe, but… I mean it would still be her killing the sacrifices. Do you have any idea what that would do to her?"

"Maybe Lydia isn't involved at all. Peter doesn't need to use her anymore; he's alive now. He claims he's weak, but he could be lying, and even if he is too weak to use his werewolf strength it doesn't really mean anything. The killings could be done by any freak out there with a garrote."

"Peter isn't a bad suggestion either," Scott admitted. "No one trusts him, not even Derek."

"And there was one other person," Stiles noted. He looked to me, his eyes searching mine. "Don't get defensive. I'm just trying to list everyone who could have done it."

"It's not _me!"_ I pulled away from him and he quickly shook his head.

"No, not _you_. I meant… your brother."

"What?" I stood up from the bed in outrage. "No way!"

"Savannah, _think_ about it!" Stiles stood too and Scott warily shifted on his bed behind us. "You said yourself that he was a violent guy before! You told me that he would get in fights for fun!"

"I said he got in _fights_ , Stiles! I never said he ripped kittens apart or walked around with a vial of virginal blood hanging around his neck!" I growled.

"How well do you really know him anymore?" Scott gently asked from behind me.

I whirled on him with angry eyes and then my mind flashed to Jack's face at the abandoned mall last night. His glee as he stood over Boyd with a bloodied hand. _Sadistic_ is the word that comes to mind. I could feel the anger quickly dissolving from me as I thought it over, the doubt creeping in like water flooding through the cracks of a door.

And then my mind flashed to my foster mom and I gasped and my hand flew to my hair. "Oh my god!" I exclaimed. "My brother is the killer!"

"Wait," Scott urged, rushing forward to grab my arm in an effort to calm me. "Just, hold on—we don't know anything. We're just talking here."

"But it's _him_ , it's… What if it's him?" I gave them both a vulnerable look of panic. "What if my brother is killing innocent people to get more power?"

Neither of them could think of any words of comfort for me, and I couldn't blame them a bit. What could they say?

"If he is…" Scott started, and I looked at him with wide eyes, ready for any sort of reaction from them this at this point. _Anything_. "Then we have to stop him."

My stomach dropped like it was filled with lead. I drew my chin back and focused on Scott with a sober expression. "Yes," I said, resigned and forcing my emotions into check. I felt numb in that moment and I looked down, my eyes unfocused. "Whatever it takes, I've got to stop him."

" _We_ do," Scott insisted, grabbing my shoulder. "You're not alone."

I turned to Stiles and trudged toward him with a heavy heart. He watched me coming towards him with a guarded expression until I walked into him head first, pressing my forehead against his shoulder with my arms hanging lamely at my sides. He snorted at my childish action but wrapped me up in a hug and let me have my moment.

I was about to lift my arms and finally return the hug when a new set of arms wrapped around us from behind me and I immediately stiffened. "Wha—"

"It's okay," Scott said as he hugged us tightly. "We'll get through this."

I couldn't decide whether to laugh or snap at him, but I couldn't stand to participate in a literal group hug. I brought my hands up between all of us and squirmed against his grasp. Scott didn't even seem to notice. "If you don't let go I'll scream!"

Scott immediately let go and Stiles was laughing, squeezing me tightly to him.

Even _his_ hug was too much for me now, and he held me to him tightly as I tried to lean away and escape his hug. "Stiles stop it!"

"Nope," He smoothly replied, pushing his hand against my back to pull me closer to him. I finally relented and sighed loudly as I wrapped my arms around him and he cackled in triumph. He was about to add something but my stomach suddenly rumbled loudly with hunger.

For a moment no one spoke. Then, Stiles announced he was heading down to the vending machines.

"No, that's okay," I tried as he finally released me and moved towards the door.

"What do you want?" He asked. "Peanut butter crackers?"

"Stiles, it's fine!" I insisted as he closed the door behind him. A moment passed and I turned to shrug at Scott. "He's so stubborn."

Scott looked back at me knowingly, a grin begging to cross his face. "He just cares."

* * *

 **Brooke's POV**

Apparently Boyd had gone to get food at the vending machine. He came back with a packet of crackers and was currently sitting on the bed eating them. Isaac had gone to sit on his bed and seemed lost in his own thoughts.

Brooke was feeling like maybe the tarot reading was a bad idea. Isaac had been distant ever since they'd finished. He looked like he was focused intensely on the TV in front of him, but the screen was black. She guessed that meant he was reflecting on what the cards said about the decision he had to make.

She felt the need to apologize gnawing at her. Brooke was nervous that the tarot reading had somehow caused a rift in their friendship—like maybe it really was too much too soon, or maybe for some reason Isaac was mad at her. It sort of seemed that way. He hadn't said a word to her since he sat down, hadn't even looked her way.

She was getting tired and felt ready to head back to the room but she hated to part on bad terms. Currently, she was holding out for a moment that felt right to approach him. She waited and waited, but the moment never seemed to come.

Brooke had her deck of cards in her hands. She shuffled them anxiously, something to occupy her hands with. It was a hobby of hers; tarot reading. Sometimes when she's alone her thoughts will run away and become too dark. So it's better to have things that will distract her.

Tarot cards were supposed to ground you. And for Brooke, the idea was very alluring. She bought a deck and a book, and three months later she'd memorized the meanings of all the cards and had reached the decision of transferring out of her private school. She hadn't really felt the need to use them until recently.

To kill some time, she decided to do a deck dip. It's sort of like a touchstone, and although it's only a single card instead of a full spread, if you think of what's bothering you the most in that moment then it can still offer some guidance, or at least some insight.

Brooke looked away from Isaac and drew a card.

Hanged Man, upright. The hair on the back of Brooke's neck prickled and her blood ran cold. The image on front depicted a man bound to a tree, hanging upside down by his right foot. His left is crossed behind him and his hands are tied behind his back.

This card is all about perspective, sacrifice, and martyrs. The number for the card is twelve—a higher octave of the number three, and the ruling planet is Neptune, the planet of self-sacrifice and idealism.

She couldn't tell what it had to do with herself. A thousand possibilities raced through her mind—was the reading specific to her, or to a greater situation happening around her? Was this somehow an answer to her situation with Isaac? She couldn't help but think of the human sacrifices that had been happening all across Beacon Hills over the past month, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to leave the bathroom and never touch a tarot card again.

Disturbed and confused, Brooke quickly gathered her cards and leaned down to blow out the candles. She picked them up and dumped them all in the sink.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she paused when she caught sight of Isaac. He was still staring blankly at the TV and she contemplated what to do. She knew it was time to leave, she was just trying to gather the courage to say goodbye to him.

Brooke felt close to Isaac. Closer to him than any boy she's ever been friends with before. Her feelings might even venture beyond friendship. He flirted with her, and he invited her to his room. He trusted her and entertained her unusual whims, offering to take them a step further. When she informed him that she was hyper at practice he offered to race her. When she told him she loved tarot cards even though most people thought they were gimmicky and strange, he told her he wanted a reading. It felt like there was something between them. Why would he do all that if he didn't want to? And why would he want to if he didn't like her?

Could she be right?

Her heart beat fast in her chest as she finally found the courage to leave the bathroom and shuffle her way across the room to his bed. "Hey," She quietly greeted, and he didn't look away from the TV as he grunted absently at her. "It's getting late. I was gonna head back."

He blinked.

"Isaac?" She asked, frowning slightly when he didn't even respond to his name. He looked uncomfortable, or distressed. "Isaac, I'm… Look, I'm sorry if that reading made you upset. I know it can be weird to have your thoughts read by a deck of cards," She laughed awkwardly and then trailed off when he just sat there without so much as grinning. Brooke cleared her throat and decided maybe it was time to go. "Anyways, I'm sorry again. Thanks for humoring me, I… I had fun."

Hesitantly, she started to lean down to kiss his cheek. But his eyes weren't even looking as she came closer and closer to his personal space, and she chickened out at the last minute, turning on her heel to flee the room with a panicked goodnight shouted over her shoulder.

Her mother was right. She really did choke at the last second.

* * *

 **Savannah's POV**

Brooke came into the room later than I expected her to. I had returned with the goodies that Stiles gave me—a small bag of peanuts and a PayDay candy bar. It was the best he could do in lieu of peanut butter crackers; apparently Boyd had taken the last packet.

I was pondering the strange behavior that Stiles claimed Boyd displayed, how he seemed almost catatonic or unaware of his actions when he shattered the glass of the vending machine to get his food. He'd been pretty quiet all day. I don't think I heard him say more than a couple words the whole bus ride.

To be fair, Boyd's always been a fairly private guy. Even when we knew each other before all of this Boyd didn't exactly do a whole lot of _talking_ , if you catch my drift. So without seeing him myself I can't really say whether there's much to be concerned about.

And one more thing to add on the pile of shit: Brooke's acting very strange. It seems like everyone has something up with them tonight. She said very little to me when she came in. She just took her bag straight into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Then I heard water turn on, and she's been in there ever since. I decided to let her be; no one understands the need to be alone with your thoughts more than I do.

I flipped through the channels, hoping that the static feedback would cut through to an actual program. But after I got to channel 145 I sighed and shut it off, bored. Then the thoughts started creeping in.

Could Derek really be dead? He fell from so high up—at least five floors, probably even more. Even an alpha werewolf would have trouble recovering from that kind of impact. He landed on the harsh, unforgiving metal stairs of an escalator—though even falling into water would hit your body like concrete from that height.

Every time I try to picture it, all I can see is a gruesome, violent death. I can hear his back breaking, snapping like a tree branch. The splat of his skull hitting the edge of the metal stairs like an egg cracking on the rim of a bowl, his brain matter spilling out.

It suddenly became hard to breathe and I had to stand up because my stomach rolled and I was almost positive I was about to throw up. I gagged and clapped a hand over my mouth. The bathroom is still shut and the water is running, and I can't very well get sick on the carpet, so I ran out the front door and made it to the railing just in time for my stomach to purge itself of its contents, which isn't much more than peanuts at this point.

The night breeze was chilling and I shivered as I gasped for air. My bare feet quickly froze and the metal railing under my hands felt cool to the touch. My eyes watered and my nose stung, and I leaned forward to spit.

When I finally opened my eyes to see the ground below I saw Derek's broken body splayed across the concrete parking lot one floor below.

Still panting, I gasped and jumped back with a strangled yelp. My heart hammered in my throat, and my hands shook as I tried to rationalize what I just saw. Tentatively, though every fiber of my being screamed at me not to, I inched towards the railing and peeked down below.

This time I saw Jack leaned over Derek's body. I couldn't see what he was doing, but the neon sign illuminated the scene just enough to make the blood pooled beside Derek visible, and there were boot tracks where Jack had been stepping all around him. Jack blocked most of Derek from view but I could see Derek's limp legs and hips moving because Jack was doing something to his body. The sound of flesh being torn reached my ears, sounding unnervingly close to how the betas sounded when they slashed his torso to pieces in the boiler room. And then Jack stepped back and I could see that Derek's whole chest had been ripped open.

His throat was cut, and the blood pooling around his head made more sense because I could see that somehow Jack had smashed his head in. From the way his eyes were swollen shut and his cheekbones were split, it looked like Jack literally beat his face to a pulp. Jack stood over Derek's body and every visible part of the front of him was coated in wet, gleaming blood. _Derek's_ blood. So much of it had gotten on him that it looked almost black.

I thought I was going to be sick again and I knew that tears streamed down my face. It's like I wanted to scream, and I tried, but no sound would come out of my throat. When Jack opened his clenched hands and I saw Derek's heart clutched in his claws, an anguished cry finally tore from my lips. Jack's face snapped up and he looked straight at me.

Terror seized me and I fell back, desperate to get away. Somewhere in my mind I realized it shouldn't be possible for them to _actually_ be down there in the parking lot—but it was so real! I could _smell_ his metallic blood; hear his flesh being torn, and the blood dripping onto the pavement from Jack's hands.

That's when the music started. I could hear Frank Sinatra playing. Far off, like it was coming from this bus in the parking lot way down below, I could just barely make out the faint opening notes to I've Got You Under My Skin. My heart sped so fast that I thought I was going to pass out, and my head felt like someone had grabbed it and shook it like a snow globe. All my thoughts were bouncing erratically and I couldn't focus on a single one for too long. The only thing that registered clearly was the sheer terror that coursed through my veins.

"I've got you under my skin..." Then, clearer than the music, I could hear the sound of something wet and heavy being dragged along the concrete below. Derek's body.

"I've got you deep in the heart of me." I had to see what was going on. I had to know. With a trembling hand, I crawled forward and carefully came to the edge of the railing. I took a steady breath. "So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me." Derek's body was gone, along with Jack. _  
_

A door slammed open somewhere below. The sudden noise startled me and I jumped back from the railing. Just before I backed away, I could see the dark wet trail of blood where Jack had dragged Derek's body off and out of sight. "I've got you under my skin…."

The door shut. For a moment I thought it was over. All was quiet, save for the music that continued playing. I rose to my feet and scrambled down the walkway, away from the end of the railing and back towards my room. "I tried so not to give in. I said to myself: this affair never will go so well…"

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. I couldn't tell which set of stairs they came from, though. "But why should I try to resist when baby, I know so well! I've got you under my skin…"

They were quick. I pushed myself against the wall and panicked for where to go, afraid that I would make the wrong choice and run straight to Jack. "I'd sacrifice anything come what might for the sake of having you near." If I go in my room, I'm trapping myself in an enclosed area. And Brooke is still in there. "In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night and repeats, repeats in my ear…"

The footsteps were almost at the top of the stairs. Panicked, I sprinted in the opposite direction, back to where I came from. "Don't you know little fool? You never can win! Use your mentality, wake up to reality!" Our room wasn't at the end, but there was one last set of stairs near the corner of the building that led down to the front office.

The neon sign grew brighter and casted longer shadows over the walkway and I heard my brother pursuing me. He was on top of the walkway now. I could smell the blood stronger, hear his heavy boots stop and pause, _feel_ his gaze as he spotted me. Then he charged. "But each time that I do, just the thought of you makes me stop—"

A door flew open in front of me and I didn't have time to stop before I ran face first into it. "Before I begin… Cause I've got you under my skin…"

Jack was over top of me now. He held my by the shoulders as I fought to throw him off, pinning me to the ground. "No!" I shrieked. " _Stop it,_ please! Jack—"

 _"Savannah!"_ Stiles screamed at the same moment something seared into my shoulder, pinning me firm against the ground.

My scream froze in my throat. I stared, open mouthed up at Stiles' wide eyes. He was holding me down. The wind was fierce. It blew his hair wildly, his shirt rippling as he jabbed what I now realized was a road flare into my shoulder.

I tilted my head to look back. The night sky greeted me, but I couldn't see the neon sign anymore. In fact I couldn't see the motel at all. I laid back on the ground to frown up at Stiles in confusion. My voice broke as I asked, "Where—where are we?"

He seemed desperate to move us away from this spot. "The top of the motel sign." How did we get up here? The question must have been evident in my eyes because Stiles explained a bit as he backed off of me and offered me a hand to get to my feet. "Why did you climb up here? What were you _thinking?"_

I looked around. We were _high_ up. The sign of the motel was a huge expanse of wall that extended over the main building where the front office was. Here at the top, we were significantly higher than even the roof of the motel rooms. The telephone poles nearby were not much taller than us.

"I don't know," I told him, scared because I didn't understand and I desperately wanted to. His eyebrows creased and he looked back at the ledge for a moment, disturbance written clearly across his face.

"Savannah," He said, his voice grave. "You were about to jump."

* * *

 **Brooke's POV**

Brooke can still remember the confusion that hit her when she first spotted Savannah standing atop the motel sign. It didn't make any sense at first. She just stood there, looking down at the pavement below, not moving. Her hair whipped wildly around her and the wind looked strong enough to push her every now and then.

The door of their room was left open when she finally finished in the bathroom, which was strange. She went outside, thinking maybe Savannah was on the walkway. She almost didn't see her. But she just happened to look up at the neon sign and did a double take when she saw a silhouette.

Once it registered that it looked like Savannah was on the verge of jumping, Brooke called out. It was the wrong thing to do. Savannah crept closer to the edge—so close that she could see the toe of her black combat boot illuminated in pink and green neon light. Brooke knew beyond a shadow of a doubt then, and a panic-laced scream tore from her throat. And no sooner did she start screaming than Stiles came bursting from a nearby room, Lydia following close behind.

She remembered every painstaking, agonizing second it took for Stiles to reach her. In the time it took him to go into the front office and no doubt find the stairwell leading to the top of the sign, Allison had to restrain Brooke from chasing after Stiles herself to follow him. Lydia screamed at Stiles in worry—panicked for a thousand reasons.

Because Stiles is human, and he can easily get hurt. Because it was all happening so fast and no one knew exactly what was happening. Because he looked up at Savannah, impossibly high up on the motel sign, and he didn't hesitate to charge towards her.

And Brooke was overwhelmed with desperation and a sadness that shocked her into a surreal clarity. _Allison_ restrained her in place. When Brooke started towards the sign, she thought the only thing that would be in her way would be Stiles running in front of her, not Allison at her back. Somehow the whole scene became more frantic when Allison, always the savior in such situations, was forced to restrain Brooke.

And by the time Stiles reached her, Savannah was finally stepping off the edge. It was like all of them collectively held their breath—and then Savannah was yanked away and thrown out of sight. That's when she started screaming, and the sound was more chilling than the desert night air. She'd never heard Savannah scream, not _ever_.

And by the look on the others' faces, neither had they. The light of the road flare lit up, visible even from the ground, and it wasn't long afterwards that Savannah and Stiles emerged from the front office. He looked more shaken than her.

Stiles was the first one out. He led the way out the door and hovered over Savannah in a panic. Once she was on the firm concrete of the parking lot outside, he was able to relax marginally—but just marginally. He almost clotheslined Brooke when she streaked past to throw her arms around Savannah, but when he saw who it was he stopped himself just in time.

"Oh, my god," Brooke sobbed. Savannah finally hugged her back for the first time all day. Her arms trembled but her grip was strong, and Brooke was filled with such crushing relief that she couldn't do anything past clutch Savannah for dear life.

Stiles reassured Allison and Lydia that he was okay when they finally rushed to join them, waving them off as he panted and shook his head. He seemed tired and wary, and when Brooke finally pulled away from Savannah she surprised him by throwing her arms around him.

Awkwardly, his hand patted her shoulder. "Oh, alright." Stiles gave Savannah a painfully uncomfortable expression over Brooke's shoulder as she sobbed a hysterical thank you at him. "No, that's fine…"

Allison and Lydia exchanged an amused glance and Allison told Savannah she was glad she was okay. Savannah, unused to any sort of kind word from the girl, looked a bit dazed as she blinked at the hunter and pressed her lips together as she nodded her head.

Brooke told everyone that she had some food stashed in her bag in their room if they were hungry. From the look on her face it was clear that the candy she offered was non-optional, so they kept quiet and Stiles and Savannah immediately drifted towards each other like the opposite ends of a magnet.

He started to put his arm around her and then lifted his hand back off when it brushed the singed part of her shoulder.

"It's already healed." Savannah shrugged her shoulder as if to prove her words.

"Yeah, well your jersey is ruined now," Stiles lamented in a flat and negative voice. "Coach is going to flip."

Savannah frowned up at him and Brooke suddenly felt like she was intruding on a private moment as she laid a hand on his cheek to pull his eyes to her hers. "You did it to save my life, Stiles," She told him matter-of-factly, causing him to frown at the reminder. "I don't give a shit about the jersey."

"Can't you just tell him you lost it if he asks?" Brooke suggested, and Savannah looked annoyed by the interruption as Stiles pulled away and looked down at the ground with a clenched jaw. It was a look on his face that she'd never seen before, and she knew that the night's events would haunt him for a long time to come.

They discussed what would be a plausible excuse for the missing jersey as they made their way back towards the rooms. Lydia suggested blaming it on Greenberg, a comment that made Stiles and Savannah snort in unison and caused Allison to frown at her in disapproval.

"What?" Lydia challenged, knowing full well that she had said something slightly insensitive.

"Uh…" Brooke interrupted, her face turned towards the bus. The others didn't immediately turn to see what was happening as they continued to bicker. "Scott?"

That got everyone's attention. There, in front of the bus, stood Scott. He looked wet. The parking lot reeked of gasoline. It took a long moment for it to register in Brooke's mind that Scott stood in a literal puddle of gasoline, not to mention, he had drenched himself in it.

And he just stood there with that same dazed expression that Savannah and Isaac had worn. All the road flares had been used. There were three: Boyd, Isaac and Savannah needed them all. They didn't have a fourth one anywhere, and there was no radiator lying around out here to burn him back to reality.

Brooke would carry one out of a room on her back if she had to.

Allison spoke up. "Scott, what's going on?"

He looked completely broken and despondent. His arms hung limply at his sides. "There's no hope," He told them.

It was like hearing the Pope say there's no God. Brooke thought Scott had worked through all of this while he was getting stitched up in the bathroom by Allison, but obviously he carried way more guilt and darkness around than he let anyone see. Brooke could relate.

"What do you mean, Scott?" Allison breathlessly asked, smiling at him sadly in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. "There's always hope."

If it was possible, his face darkened even more. "Not for Derek," He reminded them, and Savannah flinched. His eyes flickered to her. "Not for any of us."

"That's not true," Brooke suddenly said.

"Derek wasn't your fault," Allison told Scott since it was clear that he was riddled with guilt over the whole thing. "You _know_ Derek wasn't your fault."

Scott took a trembling breath, his fist rising from his hip as he clenched it tightly. "Every time I try to fight back it just gets worse, and I keep getting hurt… People keep getting killed—"

"Scott, listen to me, okay?" Stiles broke in. He took a step forward to come stand beside Brooke and Allison as he said, "This isn't _you_. Alright? This is someone inside your head telling you to do this!"

"What if it isn't?" Scott lowly asked. "What if it is just me? What if doing this…" His fist opened slightly to reveal the white lighter that Brooke had used on the candles earlier in the night. Her hand flew to her empty pocket and she whirled to look to Savannah. "What if it's the best thing that I could do for everyone else?"

"It's not," Savannah told him where she stood rooted to the ground off to the side, sounding so sure of herself that it left no room for discussion, like she had all the answers to the questions he was asking, and Brooke wondered if it was because she had just been asking herself those same questions up on the sign. "You wouldn't do this. You wouldn't want _this_ ," She gestured around at the gasoline and pointed at his fist. "This is giving up, and we've already come so far. You can't quit now, Scott, we _need_ you!"

"I can't," He told her blearily. "I'm just so _tired_. I wish things were how they were before I was bitten. Do you remember, Stiles?"

Savannah frowned at Stiles' as he nodded at Scott.

"Do you remember?" Scott implored again. "We were… we were _nothing_. We weren't popular… We weren't good at lacrosse… We weren't important. We were no one."

Stiles' jaw clenched and he looked down, and Brooke's heart ached at the sight.

"Maybe I should just be no one again… No one at all!" Scott snapped the lighter on and a flame hopped out.

"Scott, just listen to me, okay?" Stiles stepped forward, his eyes locked on Scott even as they filled with tears. "You're not no one. You're my _best_ friend." Brooke pressed a hand to her mouth and suppressed the lump that grew in her throat as he continued. "Okay? And I _need_ you…" He paused, thinking about something deeply, and then shook his head. "Scott, you're my brother."

Scott was visibly affected by Stiles' words. He looked pained, his face twisted up as he listened intently to what Stiles was saying.

"Alright, so…" Stiles lifted his foot and stepped forward.

Savannah cried out and Brooke caught her, holding her back as Stiles willingly walked into the puddle of gasoline and grabbed the lit lighter in Scott's trembling fist.

"If you're going to do this, then… then I guess you're just going to have to take me with you."

Scott sobbed lightly, and didn't resist as Stiles finally pried the lighter out of his hand and threw it over his shoulder.

Savannah threw Brooke down just as Lydia charged towards the boys, both of them crying out loudly in anguish as the lighter sailed through the air and arced towards the puddle of gasoline in a motion that was altogether too slow and too short.

Somehow, Lydia managed to knock the boys out of the range of the explosion that ensued. Savannah covered Brooke and she felt the heat of the fire blast across them so intensely she thought the flames had engulfed them both. But when she opened her eyes she realized that the wind carried the flames racing away from them, and quickly towards the bus that was parked some ten yards away.

Watching the bright, blinding flames rage before them, Savannah shuddered.

* * *

 **Savannah's POV**

Stiles was literally curled on my shoulder passed out when Coach came running onto the bus the next morning. We'd all elected to ditch our rooms in favor of the neutral territory of the bus seats.

Interestingly enough, Brooke had seated herself next to Scott. I'd overheard an interesting conversation the night before but I was so focused on explaining my hallucination about Derek and Jack to Stiles that it fell to the peripheral of my attention.

Now Coach took in the sight of each of us and shook his head bitterly. "I don't even wanna know. I _really_ don't wanna know!" He announced, and Stiles popped up from my shoulder, startled. His head whipped all around until he saw Coach standing near the front, and then he frowned to listen in confusion. "But in case you missed the memo…" I braced myself for some sort of lecture, unable to believe that he had literally not caught on to anything that happened the night before. "The meet's cancelled. We're headed home."

He then turned to scream at the rest of the students who were trudging onto the bus, still groggy and bogged down with sleep.

Interestingly enough, Ethan came to sit in front of Scott and chose to talk to him without facing him. It was something that a paranoid double agent would do while fraternizing with the enemy, like he was afraid of anyone realizing that he was actually sitting down to calmly and rationally talk with Scott.

It was a short lived conversation, and by the time he got up to move back to sit with Danny and his brother we were left with one answer that bred a whole new bus-load of questions for us. Derek is alive.

Ethan is telling us this because apparently, while I was in the midst of experiencing my own little Hotel California hallucination, Stiles stopped Ethan from introducing his abdomen to a skilsaw. Wicked.

Not only is Derek alive, but apparently he's on the alpha pack's shit list since he 'killed one of theirs', though I'm not entirely that's accurate. Whatever the case is, the alpha pack has spoken, and according to Ethan, Derek has two choices. Kill all of us, or else Kali will kill him.

He left and I turned to Stiles and Scott as they sat in silence to digest the ultimatum that the very-much-alive-Derek has no idea he faces. "I think I liked him better when he didn't talk to us," I weakly joked, referring to Ethan.

"Derek's alive," Scott murmured, wonder and cautious relief filling his voice. His eyes trailed up to meet mine and I grimly stared back at him.

"For now," I agreed, wiping the joy from Scott's face and earning a sigh from Stiles.

"Do you always have to be so negative?" Stiles teased in a frustrated tone. I snorted at him.

"Look who's talking, mister _'You're just going to have to take me with you.'_ "

Stiles' jaw dropped open at the same moment that Scott winced and Brooke cringed, and I looked between them. "Too soon?"

Brooke nodded vehemently. The bus engine started its mechanical rumble, and we wobbled in our seats a bit at the shuddering acceleration. I turned to watch as the sign of the Motel Glen Capri grew smaller and smaller behind us.


	72. Flashover

**_Been real busy. Been listening to a lot of Elliott Smith. Been really sad because if it hahahah_**

 _ **Seriously though, sorry for the delay! There's a lot going on for me right now. I wanted to get this chapter out because I'm feeling some writer's block. I know what I want to happen, it's just trying to get it there while also keeping up with what's going on in the show... some of this chapter was inspired by Good Will Hunting! Some of it was inspired by Elliott Smith's super sad music. Some of it was inspired by some dreams I had. Overall, it was a fun chapter :) Thank you for the reviews I've gotten lately! I'm glad more people are finding this. :)**_

 _ **If you're new, welcome! If you're not, welcome back! And either way, I hope you enjoy...**_

* * *

 _(Flashover - n._ the moment a conversation becomes real and alive, which occurs when a spark of trust shorts out the delicate circuits you keep insulated under layers of irony, momentarily grounding the static emotional charge you've built up through decades of friction with the world.)

* * *

And every wave is tidal - if you hang around  
You're going to get wet

 _\- King's Crossing, by Elliott Smith_

* * *

Over summer, life moved slow and quietly. Like a creek that carried a flock of lazy ducks, we floated along without much interference. Then school started back up and everything exploded.

I had hoped the worst was over. After the motel I was mentally and physically exhausted. But of course, there was more. There's always more trouble in my life.

Brooke insisted that I come home with her. I wasn't resistant because I had nowhere else to go anyways, but I did make the point to ask if anyone was home.

"Mom's in Hong Kong on business, which means that dad is probably out too."

At my strange expression, Brooke paused from putting her bag in the back seat of her new car to explain.

"My dad has a girlfriend," She simply said. I stayed rooted in my spot, gaping at her, but she simply turned away and went to the driver's side. "Come on, let's get out of here before everyone else gets to their cars and traffic backs up."

I raised my eyebrows at the revelation and went to join her. As she pulled away I rested my head on the headrest of her new car. "Is this a Fiat?"

"Hmm?" Brooke turned her eyes away from the road to smile at me. "Isn't it adorable? Screw Volkswagen!"

I looked down at the shining white dash. "I feel like I'm riding in a pearlized toe."

"Her name is Olive," Brooke defended testily. "And she does _not_ look like a toe."

"Olive?" I grinned. "Because it's olive green? Original."

Brooke shrugged a shoulder, brushing my sarcasm off easily. "I'm a simple girl, Savannah."

"Seems a little on the nose if you ask me." I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes again. "I would've named it Dirty Martini."

Brooke laughed. "Oh my god," She grinned. "I can so see you owning a car named Dirty Martini."

I was about to reply when a phone started ringing. It was the Bluetooth in Brooke's car, so it was her phone. On the caller ID was Isaac's name. She exchanged a frown with me before hitting the button.

"So listen," He started. "I have this feeling, call it a hunch, but I think things are about to get crazy again."

Derek's alive so that's basically a given.

"Okay," Brooke cautiously said. "Does this have anything to do with Temperance?"

Isaac sighed over the phone and I scrunched my face in confusion. What the hell is a temperance? "No," He finally said. "Look, last night was…"

In the ensuing silence, Brooke had a dark expression come over her face. I looked down at my lap as the image of Scott standing amid a puddle of gasoline flashed through my mind. My hallucination was pretty disturbing, but that episode with Scott was positively heart wrenching. I don't know what happened to Isaac but I know that it had to have been upsetting.

"Yeah," Brooke agreed quietly, erasing the need for Isaac to finish his thought. "I know what you mean."

"Except for you. You and your crazy cards are the only reason I don't feel like I need to go through another three years of therapy for everything that happened."

My jaw dropped at his unexpected sweet words, and Brooke's smile was blinding. She was gazing at the little screen that read _Isaac_ and I almost got nervous because she wasn't watching the road. "Awww!" She exclaimed. "Isaac Lahey, you are the sweetest boy alive."

I rolled my eyes and pretended to gag, causing Brooke to punch my arm and shoot me a glare. "So I was thinking we could meet somewhere tonight," Isaac randomly said.

Brooke sat up in her seat and looked ready to shout yes. Then she looked at me, and hesitated.

Isaac continued before either of us could speak. "We don't have to go to your place," He quickly insisted, misreading her silence. "I know how you feel about it."

"Where else is there?" Brooke wondered aloud.

"…" Isaac sighed. "Okay, fine. I hadn't actually thought it through before I called you. But I don't care, seriously. Wherever you want."

Brooke looked sort of dejected as she peered longingly back at the screen reading _Isaac_. "Uh… That really sounds great. The thing is, I've got Savannah here with me—"

"Savannah?" Isaac's voice dropped in surprise. "Uh… she's there with you right now?"

"What's the matter, Blues Clues?" I mercilessly teased, my face alight with a grin of glee at causing him embarrassment. "Brooke was _my_ girl first. Get in line."

"She can hear me?" He choked.

"Every word!" I cackled over top Brooke, who looked slightly embarrassed.

"When I answered I thought you were going to tell me there's some kind of emergency," She quickly explained. Brooke spared me a glance. "We're in my car, pulling up to my apartment."

There was a sigh over the phone and a man wearing a vest and with the apartment complex's name embroidered over the breast pocket started towards the car.

"Uh—" Brooke held a finger up to him and put the car in park. "Listen, valet is going to park the car, so why don't you just head on over and we can all watch a movie or something?"

I cringed on behalf of Isaac and immediately shook my head. "Oh, definitely not," I quickly said at the same time Isaac reluctantly agreed. "I don't think any of us want that. Isaac, why don't we swap sleepovers?"

Brooke frowned to ask me if I was sure and I waved her off.

"As long as Scott won't mind," Isaac hesitantly agreed. There was movement from his end and a few moments passed before Isaac concluded that Scott was fine with it, as long as I was fine with the mess Isaac's left in the guest room.

"I'm familiar with your sleeping patterns." I gave Brooke a dry look in lieu of Isaac. "We lived together for a spell, remember?"

"Yeah," Isaac smartly replied. "It's sort of burned in my memory. You broke my arm."

Brooke jerked in surprise and I loudly corrected him. "Derek broke it! I _fixed_ your bone, you ungrateful little—"

"Hey, hey, hey," Brooke put her hands up as if to come between us even though we were on the phone, and it would have been comical if I wasn't annoyed at Isaac. "Play nice!"

"See you in twenty," Isaac huffed.

"I'll make it there in ten," I challenged, and the line went dead. Brooke glared at me and I shrugged. "What?"

* * *

 **Brooke's POV**

Savannah took off pretty quickly. Brooke barely had time to say goodbye before she zipped into the night like it was of the utmost importance that she beat Isaac's time. As soon as Brooke was in the apartment, she was in a mad frenzy to prepare.

The apartment was perfect, its decoration impeccable in taste and aesthetic. But that's not the issue. It really looked like a model suite, used for advertising purposes. There were little to no signs of life to be found anywhere.

Most of the time Brooke lived out of her bedroom, coming out only to pass through on her way to the front door. She was angry with her parents, a fact that she ignored not out of choice but simply because there was no opportunity to be angry with them. They were never there.

As a result, when Brooke came through the door of the apartment that night—and it was pretty late—she was alone. Everyone else had gone for the day. Her nanny moved back into her daughter's house after the move, and the place was small enough that they didn't need a whole staff to live there on the property in order to maintain it.

Truly, Brooke felt like a ghost in her own home. And it does sort of feel haunted. She has visions, fantasies of doing normal things with her family. Eating dinner together at the dining room table. Fighting over what channel the television is on. Laughing about their neighbors. Everywhere she looks, she sees parts of life that she'll never get to live.

There's no trace of its inhabitants. Evidence of her parents passing through had been cleaned and swept away by the maids some time that morning. And it's likely that no one had even been in the apartment since around one o'clock that afternoon.

It was now ten at night. Isaac said he would be there in twenty minutes. Given Savannah's challenge and the insatiable competitive streak that ran through the betas, she was expecting him much sooner.

Brooke flew through the apartment in a tizzy. Franny, her cat, was nowhere to be seen. There were places to hide in this apartment that Brooke hadn't figured out yet. In the old house she knew all the spots her cat would hide in, but now… she had seen only a glimpse of her the day before when she was packing for the cross-country meet, as the fluffy feline made a mad dash from the kitchen down the hall. Brooke thinks maybe Franny can sense the alpha werewolves that live only a single floor above them. It's unnerving for the domestic cat, who's used to lazing around all day and being—as she sees it—queen of the house. And now there's a pack of alphas looming overhead.

Brooke replenished Franny's food and water before she went to get blankets from the hall closet—she guessed their location and struck gold. She tossed all the fluffy throw blankets onto the couch and was about to retrieve her stash of movies from her room when the buzzer rang.

She went to press the button in the foyer. "Brooke?" Isaac's tinny voice echoed over the empty room behind her. "It's me."

Deciding to have a bit of fun, she feigned confusion. "Me, who?"

There was a pause before his voice came through again. "…Isaac."

Silence. She was about to give up the jig when the buzz came again.

"Uh, Isaac… Lahey?"

Unable to continue the cruel façade, she pressed the button to let her hear her laughter. "Sorry, that was mean," She grinned. "Come on up."

After she buzzed him in she went to disarm the alarm and then unlock the door. Just as she flicked back the deadbolt, she heard him knocking at the door. Somehow she knew he'd elected to take the stairs and come up the many flights in record-breaking speed.

"You should work for Jimmy John's," She joked. "You'd make a killing."

"Or maybe the fire department," He said with a smirk as he stepped past her, his eyes trained on her. "Derek would see the irony in that right?"

Brooke gave his shoulder a shove as she shut the door and threw the deadbolt back into place. "Shame on you!" She lightly chided, and he grinned as he turned away.

Isaac came up short and went slower as he took in the apartment. Lowly, he let out a whistle. "So, you're like, loaded?"

"Didn't you say the same thing when you came over last time?" Brooke recalled, squirming and slightly uncomfortable at his observation.

Isaac seemed to ponder this as he ran a finger across the _greige_ —a cross between grey and beige—walls. "What's that saying?" He asked, turning to give her an expression that was hard for her to decipher. "You can take the princess out of her palace, but…"

Brooke swallowed a frown as she stepped around him, afraid that he might see how deeply his words affected her. It hurt to know that he thought of her that way, because he was talking like he thought she was some spoiled rich kid.

"When she downgrades to a castle it doesn't make a difference?" She finished with a bitter note she failed to filter out despite genuine effort.

He laughed, oblivious. "It's easy to forget how much money you have," He told her, like it was some profound revelation that should mean something to her. That it somehow made a difference in what she felt was a blossoming friendship.

She wanted to ask him what he would like her to say. Apologize for her parents being the way they are? Say something that would somehow comfort him for not sharing the same life she does? He has no idea what living like her truly costs.

So, instead of delving into that and risking the entire rest of the night, Brooke did what she does best. "Hope you like ice cream," she told him as she skipped to the kitchen.

The lights flicked on one at a time, the metal chandelier that lit up over the center of the giant island of marble doing little to distract from his previous notation of her wealth.

He watched as she went to the fridge and pulled open the freezer. "As long as it's not Neapolitan."

"Chocolate hazelnut ice cream sandwiches," She announced as she pulled out a tray of light, cream colored macaroons. The edges had been rolled in roasted hazelnuts and the ice cream in the middle was a dark, intense chocolate hazelnut flavor.

"Did you make these? How did you find the time?" Isaac balked, looking almost afraid to touch one as she laid the frozen tray across the grey marble countertop.

Brooke's smile faltered as she observed his hesitation. "Well, not by myself." She picked one up and shrugged a shoulder, examining the desert sandwich. "I assembled them."

"Well who actually made them?" He wanted to know, reaching out to take the sandwich from her.

She didn't want to say. She knew as soon as she told him it was the chef that their family hires to cook their meals, it would only reinforce his earlier comments. No matter how much fun she had helping prepare them. She cleared her throat. "Just shut up and try it," Brooke told him without an ounce of hostility. It sounded like a phrase Savannah would say, and that was by design, but there was none of their friend's signature venom lacing the words.

Isaac raised an eyebrow and looked her over, acknowledging whom she had sounded like without uttering the words aloud as he tasted the desert.

Of course his reaction was not disappointing. She beamed at the groan of approval that came from him, but Isaac seemed somewhat embarrassed. He quickly composed himself, shrugging casually. "It's not bad."

Brooke laughed and he pretended not to be disconcerted as he surreptitiously grabbed another sandwich. "Good," She grinned. "Take as many as you want. It'll be nice not to have to throw these out."

His eyes bulged and he gawked at her. "What do you mean? You were going to throw these in the trash?"

She looked away as she grabbed the tray to place it back in the freezer, pausing as Isaac quickly snatched another one when he realized what she was doing. The truth is, she makes stuff like this all the time. Literally, all the time. And more often than not they have to be thrown out because there's no one around to eat them and they stop tasting good right about the time she realizes that.

Isaac was already finishing off the last one he'd grabbed and she wondered if he had a brain-freeze.

She grinned and turned to lead the way to the television. "What sort of movie are you in the mood for?"

"Oh, we're actually going to watch movies?"

Brooke came up short and seemed surprised as she turned around. At a loss, she floundered in her spot. "You don't want to?"

"No, I do, I just thought you were saying that because Savannah was with you."

She frowned. "There isn't much else to do. I don't have golf carts and a pool house here," She reminded him. "Remember? Castle, not palace."

"Did I hurt your feelings or something?" He asked, sensing the not-so-subtle jab.

When he pointed it out so blatantly and she could see the concern written plainly across his face it made her feel stupid for actually becoming offended about something that neither of them could control. She turned her face away and laughed it off. "Isaac, you're fine. I overreacted. Let's forget about it."

He seemed unsure as he nodded, his face troubled. She wanted nothing more than to move on with the night.

Brooke suggested something light hearted. And, in an effort to lighten the tense atmosphere, she pulled out a movie she knew he wouldn't want to watch.

"Wait," He agonized as he efforted to keep the cringe off his face when he saw the movie case. "Seriously?"

"What?" She asked, a smile playing at her lips. Her eyes danced with amusement as she held the case aloft. "You don't like The Notebook?"

He gave her a dry look. "Pass."

At his blunt rejection, she couldn't keep from laughing. Her chest lifted from the awkwardness that befell them and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw she'd been joking.

"Thank god," He sighed, touching a hand to his hair as she continued to dig through her pile of movies. "I thought you were being serious."

"You think I would force you to watch Nicholas Sparks?" She joked, and he chuckled. The laughter was sucked from his throat when she held up the next movie. "No, we're watching Twilight."

He swallowed roughly and before he had the chance to try and lie to say it was okay she laughed again. Isaac was so unaccustomed to laughter, but being around Brooke made the action seem as natural as breathing. He grinned when he caught on and shook his head. "That was mean."

"Trust me," She said. " _These_ are the serious options."

Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Jaws and Good Will Hunting.

He was confused by the selection. "What type of experience are you going for here?" He asked her and she was unable to keep from cracking up at the question as she took in the completely different genres lying on the floor.

"The _holy-crap-I-just-watched-a-great-movie_ experience," she said with a smirk. "Which I can personally guarantee any of these will give you, but in totally unique ways."

"You, Brooklyn St. James, are an experience," Isaac told her with a small grin that made her chest flutter. She hid her grin behind her hair and looked down at the movies.

"If you don't choose then I will."

He sat back in the couch and stuck his foot out, randomly nudging one across the wooden floors. "That one," He decided.

"You don't even know which one you chose!"

He tilted his head and shrugged a shoulder. "It's all part of the _experience_."

Brooke sighed heavily but didn't object. She went to put the movie in and pressed play. Then, she quickly scrambled back to the couch so she didn't miss anything. The previews were her favorite part.

Neither of them felt the need to speak as they watched the advertisements. By the time the opening screen came, she was sure he had to have guessed based off the outdated trailers that played before the start, but Isaac was surprised when he read the title aloud. "Good Will Hunting," He said. "Huh. I thought I kicked Monty Python."

She moved to change it and he quickly threw a pillow at her to stop her. Unprepared, she caught the yellow pillow with her face and sputtered at the unexpected contact. Isaac snorted and told her that he was happy with the movie, and to relax and sit back before she missed the beginning.

She tried to do just that, but the lights were still on, and she also remembered that they were missing an integral part of the movie-going experience: popcorn.

When she enlightened Isaac to these facts, he suggested rock-paper-scissors for who would be the one to go fix the issues. "Oh, I'm not so sure you wanna do that," She warned him.

He scrunched his eyebrows at her like she was crazy. "Why? Are you volunteering?"

"No, it's just that I've never lost a game of rock-paper-scissors."

He stared at her blankly. "Get out."

She vehemently shook her head. "No! I'm serious!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I _always_ win."

Eager at the unintentional challenge, Isaac raised from his sunken spot at the opposite corner of the couch to quickly slide across the distance between them. He put one hand on his knee and then raised his other fist.

Silently, she gave him a cautioning face. He impatiently shook his fist at her and then started bobbing it to show that he was about to throw out his first choice.

Clambering to catch up, Brooke was barely able to throw a hand out in time before he had his first one drawn. He had chosen rock, and she chose paper.

Isaac's jaw dropped. "What the hell!"

"I told you!"

"You saw what I picked and threw out paper afterwards," He accused, and she laughed at him and shook her head.

"No! I'm being serious! I really just… win. It's sort of boring, to be honest."

"Boring?" Isaac gawked, and then shook his head as if to expel the ridiculous thought from his mind. He shook his fist again and she quickly matched him. He tossed out rock again, and she tossed out paper with an unsurprised laugh because she already knew he was about to get angry.

He flew up from the couch and demanded a rematch. Amused, she entertained his hopeless determination and played the game about six more times in a row. He tried to throw her off but in the end she always came out with the winning selection.

Quietly, Brooke told him that she would go make the popcorn if he wanted.

He huffed and threw himself back down on the couch as he muttered under his breath and tried to figure out how she _cheated_.

Somehow, she knew insisting that she was just _really_ good at rock-paper-scissors would exacerbate him, so she hurried to go get the popcorn. By the time she returned, he was still brooding about it, now pushed over to his corner of the couch, but he filled her in on what she'd missed in the movie even though she'd seen it hundreds of times before.

It was around the end of the movie, during what Brooke will openly admit is the most dramatic scene, when Isaac suddenly got up without warning and fled to the bathroom. Several thoughts struck her in rapid succession.

Firstly, he was missing the best part! Sean, Will's therapist, was just in the middle of a breakthrough in their therapy sessions. He was in the middle of telling Will, his client, that the abuse he suffered at the hands of his foster dad wasn't his fault. Secondly, Brooke smacked her head and immediately got up to turn the movie off. Isaac related to Will, and that scene hit too close to home for him.

"Stupid," She muttered to herself, outraged that she hadn't figured it out earlier. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

She quickly dashed over to the bathroom, ready to barge in and apologize profusely. At the last moment she restrained herself and opted for a delicate knock, the sound of which was nearly inaudible. It sounded more like a mouse scratching at the wood than an ashamed friend reaching out.

"Isaac…" She said, quietly. Total silence was the only response from inside. "Hey, look, I'm… I'm really sorry. I wasn't thinking at all when I chose that movie."

"Just—give me a minute," Isaac told her, his voice cracking under the intense emotional strain he currently experienced. "It was probably just those stupid ice cream sandwiches."

Brooke sighed and frowned, knowing full well exactly what was vexing the skinny beta. And it had nothing to do with chocolate hazelnut deserts. She withdrew from the door, but only took a few steps away, pressing a worried hand to her mouth as she paced in the hall outside the bathroom.

Isaac grew quiet again. The massive clock that hung in the foyer was audible from there, since she'd turned the television off. Beyond that there was the occasional placid bleep from the alarm systems. Finally, after what felt like an agonizing lifetime, the bathroom door opened and Isaac flicked the light off.

Brooke almost barreled him over as he emerged. Her flurry of words were difficult to understand, but he was basically able to pick up that she felt like crap and wanted to know what she could do to make it better.

"I think I'm just going to go," He said, pushing her hand off his arm and creating some distance between them. He felt embarrassed; humiliated that such a trivial thing could trigger him. That his father still held so much power over him and just when Isaac thought he had regained control over his life, his father found new and disturbing ways to prove him wrong. He doubted he would ever be truly free of his clutches.

"Isaac, _please_ ," Brooke finally slowed down enough to look up at Isaac with miserable eyes, her hand twitching to reach out and grab his arm. But he's already pushed her away once and she didn't want to overstep, so she shifted in place. "I'm really sorry. I… look, we've still got two other movies we can watch. Monty Python is guaranteed to make you laugh."

Isaac seemed torn. He really wanted to bolt, but there was nothing about Brooke or the apartment that felt… constricting. It was in fact welcoming, and though the striking luxury apartment was worlds away from what Isaac was accustomed to, in an unexpected way that made it easier to stay in. It wasn't his father's. It could certainly never be mistaken for his father's house. It was neutral territory, in which a friendly girl who was _very_ concerned about him was begging him to stay.

And, in her own way, Brooke is a comfort to him. She distracts him.

He looked back at the couches. "You… want me to stay?"

Brooke was confused. She restrained herself from exclaiming that was exactly what she so desperately wanted. "If that's what you want," She gently told him. "Yes of course I'd like you to stay. But I understand if you need to go."

Isaac shrugged a shoulder. "All right."

Brooke was cautious. "Alright, you'll… you're staying?" She asked uncertainly.

Isaac gave her a jerky nod and shifted on his feet, glancing around anxiously. "Yeah, I guess."

She gave him a warm smile and turned as if to invite him to lead the way back to the couch. "Alright," She said, and took a breath. "All right."

And that was that. Isaac didn't tell her why he fled to the bathroom, but then, he didn't need to. And she didn't ask. She'd already come dangerously close to ruining a perfect night, not to mention their entire friendship, all from a single mistake. A mistake that she would be sure never to repeat.

* * *

 **Savannah's POV**

Confession time. I didn't go to Scott's. I fully intended to when I left the parking lot of Brooke's apartment complex, but as I got farther and farther away my feet carried me in a different direction.

Now I lay in Stiles' bed wearing only my underwear and his shirt. He wore nothing but his dark colored boxers, and the rest of our clothes were discarded on the carpeted floor. I was propped up on his pillows and his had his head lying on my stomach and the blankets had been kicked to the side. I ran my fingers through his soft hair. "I guess it's possible that he's just been holed up in his apartment the whole time."

Stiles hummed distractedly, only half-awake, and from what I can tell half-listening.

"I'm telling you, he shouldn't have survived. No one should have survived that fall. Ennis didn't. I've been racking my brain trying to figure it out, and nothing makes sense. Nothing." My hand stilled and I looked down at his still figure, his breathing steady and warm against my stomach. "Short of divine intervention," I smartly amended. "God sure knows how to pick his moments, doesn't he?"

Then, lazily turning my head I spotted the magic eight ball that Stiles had on his nightstand. I reached over to pick it up and asked it, "Hello, God. Are you there? It's me, Savannah." I shook it and turned it over. The bright, glowing response bubbled to the surface. _Yes_. Encouraged, I read the response aloud before turning it back over. "Cool! Follow up question: Is Derek alive?" I turned it over. Looking down at Stiles, I read him the answer. "Outlook good."

Stiles' lips tickled my stomach as he replied without lifting his face, his response muffled. "Ethan already told us he's alive."

"Yes, but now God's confirming it," I told him. I looked back at the magic-eight-ball, figuring that as long as _He_ was answering it was time to get my questions out of my system. "Can I see what you look like?"

 _My reply is no._

I scoffed. "Fine," I snipped. "He said no," I relayed to Stiles, who snorted into my stomach and lifted his head. An infectious smile spread across his lips as he looked at me, and when he pressed a sweet kiss to my lips I returned the gesture. Peeping one eye open, I broke our kiss as I spoke to the eight ball. "Is Derek secretly immortal?"

Stiles sighed as I read him the answer. "It is decidedly so."

Stiles laughed and reached up to grab the eight ball and toss it behind him. It landed on the carpet with a loud thud and I gasped. Before I could rise up and find it to see if he broke it, Stiles distracted me by kissing my neck. He threaded his hand behind my back and pulled me closer, forcing me to arch my back so he had better access to the sensitive skin between my jaw and my neck, right at the pulse point. "I missed you," He murmured, his voice vibrating my throat and warm breath casting goosebumps across my skin.

I couldn't suppress a grin and I opened my mouth to reply, but my voice was lost when Stiles pressed his lips to that spot again and gently sucked.

"Stiles?" Sheriff knocked at the door. "What was that noise? Did you fall off your bed again?"

My jaw dropped and I laughed silently as Stiles shot up and turned to respond. "Ah—nothing! I dropped my shoe."

I snorted loudly at the awkward explanation and Sheriff paused before responding. "O…kay. Well, are you going somewhere?"

"Nope," Stiles answered.

For a long moment Sheriff didn't answer. Then he sighed loudly and gave a tired, vague response before he shuffled away, content that nothing was amiss. Stiles sighed and shook his head to himself as he settled back into bed, grinning at my amused snickers.

Returning exactly to the spot he'd abandoned, he proceeded to pepper kisses from my throat, down to my collarbone. As he continued, I said, "Maybe I should go see him."

"No," Stiles easily dismissed, ducking down even further past my chest. He pushed the shirt up my stomach with one hand and cupped my ass with his other, yanking me towards him possessively. "Stay here." He finished the thought by nipping at my hipbone playfully.

I grinned and snorted at him. "Why are you suddenly so against me talking to your dad?"

Stiles let out a comical mixture of a groan and a sigh, collapsing into my stomach face-first once he realized that this was not an issue I would easily drop. "Because," He muttered into my skin. "He has no idea you're even here, okay? You came in through the window, remember?"

"Yes, but that's because I wanted to see you and I'm technically not supposed to be staying here."

"I know," Stiles smirked, and a grin pulled at my lips briefly before falling.

"I'm worried about him."

He lifted his head to look at me. "Yeah," He gently admitted. "So am I."

"So then why don't we both go check on him?" I suggested, and Stiles grabbed my legs as I started to try and climb from the bed.

" _Because_ ," He insisted, pushing me firmly into place and climbing over top of me. "It's like, one-thirty in the morning. Let's not bother him. He needs to go to bed."

"What if I said I wouldn't have sex with you again until you let me make sure he's okay?"

Stiles stared at me for a moment, frozen on top of me. He was knelt between my knees, his hands gripping under the crook of them. After a moment passed he finally pushed my left leg back so he could move towards the floor.

"Where are you going?" I quietly chuckled, reaching out to him.

"It's one-thirty," Stiles told me. "He's probably still up."

I couldn't contain another laugh, louder this time. All it took was the threat of no-sex, and suddenly Stiles is leading the way. I watched him quickly go grab a pair of sweatpants from his dresser. He tossed them over to me before he went to get his shorts from the floor and tug them over his hips. He snapped up his shirt and flashed a shameless smirk at me, knowing exactly why I was rolling my eyes. "Come on," He impatiently told me. "You wanted to go talk to him. Let's go."

I sighed and looked at the door, hesitant now that it seemed like we were seriously about to go potentially disrupt Sheriff's entire night. "No," I said, and Stiles' shoulders fell in exasperation. "You're right! It's too late. He'll still be here in the morning. I'll catch him before work."

Stiles was satisfied that I decided not to actually go disturb his father, but he hesitated. "You weren't actually serious about that no-sex thing right?"

I swallowed a laugh. "I don't know," I teased him and gestured towards the floor. "Let's ask. Where's that magic eight ball?"

Stiles dropped his shirt and came back towards the bed, climbing up on his knees. He crawled towards me with a little grin playing at his lips. "I'm not listening to that thing. That's the same thing that told you it was God and Derek is immortal."

"Yeah, exactly! So I guess we better start treating him nicer. If he's got it in with God and magic eight balls, he's definitely got it in with Santa."

Stiles laughed with delight at my playful side that I don't let show very often. "I'm not going to let a _toy_ dictate our relationship, Savannah."

I placed a hand against his jaw and he curled his arm around my waist to pull me closer. "I think it's fun," I told him, looking down at his lips for a moment as he came closer and closer. "We could use it to play a dirty game."

"Dirty?" Stiles perked up and pulled back just before he was ready to kiss me, suddenly interested in finding the thing. "You mean like, _dirty_ -dirty?"

"I mean like you better find that eight-ball if you're feeling lucky." Biting my lip, I grabbed him by the waistband of his shorts and gave him a promiscuous grin. "Let's see what it has to say about me using my mouth."

Stiles nearly fell off the bed in his haste to find the toy, and I laughed again.

* * *

The next morning saw Stiles and I sneaking into the bathroom to share a shower. We were in his room now, and I don't know how Sheriff hasn't figured out that there's another person in his house yet. He actually came into the bathroom to grab his phone that he'd left sitting on the sink, but I was hidden safely behind the curtain.

Stiles was finished getting dressed. He and I had homework to do today, but other than that there were no pressing matters to attend to. It was the weekend, thank god.

Stiles put on the radio when we got into his room. It was playing a song that made me sad; made me think of my family. I sat on the bed, watching him as he moved around his room in the quiet early morning light. "Stiles," I suddenly called, and he turned to raise his eyebrows at me. "I've been in contact with Jack."

He stood near his desk, a blue folder in his hand that he looked down at as he absorbed my words. For a long moment he didn't say anything and the music filled the silence, a melancholy voice crooning about lost time. Finally he gave the smallest, saddest smile that I've ever seen him wear, and it made my heart break. "I know," He told me with a nod.

"How?" I frowned.

"Savannah, I can _see_ you," He told me. I didn't doubt it. "Better than anyone else can, probably. I can tell when something is bothering you. All right? And it wasn't hard for me to figure it out."

I looked down, guilt swelling in my throat. "I didn't tell you because…"

No explanation came to mind. I held my head in my hands.

"Hey, hey," Stiles quietly crossed his room to grab me by the chin and lift my face. He brushed a thumb over my cheek, looking like he felt bad for me. Genuinely bad, not pity. Like he knew how hurt I felt about the whole situation, and he felt it too. "Stop it, Savannah. I swear I'm not angry. I'm _worried_."

I stood as I pulled him into an embrace and clung to him for dear life. He held me back just as tightly, his arms enveloping me and holding me together. The relief that he wasn't angry was too much. It made me feel even worse somehow, like I should've known to tell him in the first place so I didn't have to go through it alone. Unshed tears strained my voice as I said, "I'm so _mad_ at him," my eyes burning.

"I know." Stiles tightened his arms around me and pressed a kiss to the side of my head. "Me too."

Stiles let me cry into his shoulder until there was nothing left. By the time I was done, my hair was dry but the shoulder of his shirt and the front of the chest where I buried my face were soaked. He grinned when I laughed in embarrassment and shook my head at myself. "You're a mess," I told him, my lip still trembling, and he nodded at me pointedly.

"Yeah, _I'm_ the mess."

I smacked his shoulder and he snickered. I wiped at my eyes with the back of my wrists, sniffling. "Shut up."

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and when he pulled back, he studied my face. I smiled, my eyes closed as I sighed and basked in the comfort he offered. He spoke so softly I had to open my eyes and make sure I didn't imagine it. "I'll be here for you," He promised, making my heart ache. "I'll always be here. You don't have to hide from me. Not that. Not anything."

I wanted to cry again, but I was sick of it; sick of weeping over a person who didn't love me. It's not fair to me, and not to Stiles either. Jack was toxic. I kissed Stiles' lips, pouring my gratitude into the gesture, and he gripped my arm as I held his face tightly between my hands and pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his lips again. "I don't deserve you," I said, another tear slipping down my cheek. That one was for him, not for Jack.

Stiles raised his eyebrows, visibly restraining a smile. "Yeah," He teased. "That's probably true."

He grinned at the deep laugh that came from my stomach and I shook my head. I wondered how he could pull me from such a dark place with such little effort. He made it look easy.

Stiles reached up to brush a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. "That's love," He told me, as if he could read my mind. "And you do deserve it."

After we straightened ourselves up Stiles led the way out of his bedroom. He went to get something to eat from the kitchen, while I wandered off to the dining room where Sheriff was working.

He had files upon files spread out across the table. Rare was the day they actually used the dining room to eat. I knew Sheriff used it as a sort of makeshift office for when work was hectic, and I also knew when he sat here a bottle of smooth, dark warm alcohol wasn't far. But it's early so that the smooth, dark warm beverage was a mug of coffee.

Sheriff didn't turn around as he flipped through a few pages. "Hey, son, what's the name of that new English teacher? Ms. What?"

I ran a hand through my hair where I leaned against the doorframe. "Blake," I told him.

Sheriff jerked around in surprise. "Savannah!" He glanced over my shoulder, looking for Stiles. "What are you doing here?"

Sheriff pulled back the sleeve of his uniform to look at his watch. His hair was messy, and I wondered if he'd even left the table at all last night.

"Visiting my favorite Sheriff in town."

Sheriff snorted. "I'm the _only_ Sheriff in town."

I winked at him and went to sit at a seat. As soon as I grabbed a page and started to look it over, he reached over to snatch it from my grasp and gave me an admonishing shake of his head.

"Sorry," I told him, my tone distinctly unapologetic.

He sighed and looked me over. His eyes lingered on my face. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

I shrugged a shoulder and looked down.

"I've heard that you haven't been to your foster mom's house," He told me, a disapproving glint in his stare.

I rolled my eyes. "Come on," I said. "What did you expect? I think her _walls_ have lung cancer."

Sheriff sighed loudly and rubbed his face. In that moment, he looked every bit his age. An unbidden wave of guilt swelled in my chest and I wanted to reassure him that I would go back, even though we both knew it was a lie. But I wanted to say something to make him feel better. Anything.

Before I could think of something, Stiles came into the dining room with a cup of coffee for me, and a plate of pop tarts for him.

"What flavor?" I asked as he scooted the chair back beside me. I reveled in the hot liquid as it warmed me from the inside out and helped to chase away the noxious melancholy that my morning cry-session induced.

"Blueberry," He told me with a full mouth. I wrinkled my nose at him and he shrugged. "You know where the kitchen is."

I grinned, reaching over to pat his knee. "You're so sweet to me."

"Shut up and drink your coffee," Stiles quipped, taking another bite of his breakfast that gave me a toothache just by looking at it. "Babe," He smartly added with a shit-eating grin after a long moment.

This time I nudged his foot with mine. Sheriff was looking at us, no trace of stress or anguish on his face. It was the closest thing to a smile that I'd seen from him in weeks. I cleared my throat and looked away as I took a drink of my coffee.

"So why were you asking about Ms. Blake?" Stiles wanted to know, and he casted a spray of pop tart across the table and onto some of the files.

"Don't—" Sheriff started, but it was too late. Stiles picked up the soiled file and shook the crumbs from it. When he saw what was inside he hesitated.

"Why are you looking at mom's medical records?"

I sat, stunned. The silence that ensued was filled with tension, Sheriff's secrets growing more and more impossible to ignore. His jaw clenched and he shook his head. "Nothing, Stiles," He told him in a tone that left no room for discussion. "Don't you kids have something to do?"

"English," I said at the same time Stiles said _no._ Stiles glared at me and I winced at him with an apologetic shrug. He rolled his eyes as he father continued.

"Well go do your homework," He told us. "This stuff is confidential."

"Really?" Stiles challenged. "Mom's medical records are confidential?"

Sheriff fixed him with a look. "Stiles."

His son clenched his jaw and it was clear that he did not want to drop it. As he weighed his options, his fist clenched, silence echoed over the room. Sheriff didn't budge. Stiles finally got up from the table without a word.

Sheriff let out a breath the second that Stiles stormed off. He delicately placed the file back on the table, putting it back in order. When he noticed my presence he stopped to look up at me. "What?"

"He just cares. He's worried. We both are. For someone who makes it his business to know everyone else's business, you sure do a great job of keeping secrets." Before he could respond I gave him a sad smile. "I would know. I'm the master at bottling things up."

Sheriff's protest died on his lips. His shoulders slumped and he watched me, speechless. I grabbed my coffee and went to squeeze his shoulder on the way out, taking the long way around the table.

I could hear his curse all the way from the hall as he suddenly swept his arm across the table and knocked everything into the floor. He cursed again, likely at the resulting mess, and I continued on to Stiles' bedroom.

* * *

 **Brooke's POV**

When she woke the next morning the couch was empty. Brooke had gone to sleep in her room, but she couldn't exactly remember how she got there. They ended up watching all three movies—and she made it halfway through Jaws before she passed out. She remembered being shook awake, but when she rolled over to go back to sleep Isaac carried her into the bedroom.

She wondered if he even stayed on the couch or if he left after depositing her on top of the bed. He had tucked the throw blanket from the couch over her and left her to slumber.

She stood in the living room and a sigh escaped her lips. The apartment was still empty. Sad that Isaac had left without saying goodbye, she went to plop on the couch.

Why does she always end up feeling like she ruined everything with him? As soon as the thought crossed her mind she chided herself for throwing yet another pity party. The truth is, Isaac stayed. He was about to leave but he stayed, and he didn't have to do that. So that means they're good. Right?

Brooke sighed and put her head in her hands. A small meow came from the hallway. She turned to see Franny running out of the hall and towards the couch. The tan and black cat leapt up to the couch and walked along the back, meowing loudly at Brooke.

She reached out and picked up Franny with a happy coo. "Where have you been, huh?"

Franny meowed and tried to wiggle from her grasp, but she held tight.

"I know, Francy Pants," Brooke conspired in a whisper. "I hate this place too."

Franny meowed shortly and then sneezed.

Brooke scratched at Franny's head just how she liked it. It didn't take long for Brooke to lull Franny into a compliant heap of fur, splayed across her lap, and once she was sure that the feline wouldn't immediately run for the hills she let go to grab the remote and flick on the television.

She put her feet up on the table and sat back to watch the science channel with a purring kitty in her lap. For the first time in what felt like days, Brooke smiled and sighed in peace.

* * *

 **Savannah's POV**

"I don't understand what happened," Scott said beside me. He was gesturing to Clarice's house, which was still taped off. After leaving Stiles' house, I told Scott about what Sheriff said. He offered to go check in on her with me on the way to get food. I thought it was a potentially bad idea, but let him drag me here nonetheless. And when we got here we found that police cars swarmed the street, their lights bright and flashing in all the windows of the closely packed duplex homes. "How did she die?"

I already knew the answer. Officer Jefferson looked sour and moody as he replied. "The old lady smoked six packs a day, kid. You do the math."

Scott looked at me with wide eyes and parted lips, his shoulders falling. "What's going to happen to you?"

I looked back at him. "They'll throw my name back into the system. If I'm lucky there's another foster parent waiting to have cash from the state line their pockets."

"And if there's not?" Scott asked.

I looked away and shrugged. A gurney finally rolled out of the house. The EMTs at either side of the bed worked together to lift Clarice as they carried her down the stoop of the porch, the wheels of the gurney hitting the sidewalk with a noisy clatter.

Sheriff followed the EMTs out with two other officers. He looked directly at me as Scott offered to let me stay the night. "Mom will understand," He told me. "You can take the couch. Or my bed, if you want, and I'll stay on the couch."

I gave him a weird look and Scott reached over to grab my shoulder.

"Savannah," He earnestly said. "I'm sorry."

I shrugged his hand off with a sneer. "Don't be. That woman—"

No comments came to mind. Well, they did, but all of them were nasty. And the truth is I felt horrible about her death.

I cleared my throat as the EMTs loaded the gurney into the back of the ambulance and closed the doors.

"Hey," I frowned and turned down the road. The large van parked behind a police vehicle. I read the business name stretched across the side and smacked Scott's arm, but he was already looking in the same direction. "What's Deaton doing here?"

Scott wordlessly started towards his boss. The short man had an empty cat-carrier at his side and he seemed just as confused to see us. "Scott?" His eyes flicked over to me. "Savannah? You two shouldn't be here, this is—"

"Clarice was Savannah's foster mom," Scott quickly explained. Deaton's face flashed to sympathy as he looked at me. "What are you doing here, doc?" Scott asked.

"Apparently Mrs. Jones owned a cat." He held the cage aloft for us to see. "I'm going to retrieve it."

I snorted and crossed my arms, earning identical expressions of concern and confusion from the two males. "Good luck," I insincerely told him. "That thing hates human contact."

Deaton smiled at me, unconcerned. "I'll take care of it."

"Hey!" I called as he turned away. "Its name is Gaius... if that helps."

Deaton smiled at me like I had done something unfathomably kind, and I resisted the urge to scowl as I looked away and inwardly insisted that he leave. "Thank you," He kindly smiled.

Before we could comment further, Sheriff Stilinski approached. "Doctor Deaton. Thank you for coming. We've managed to—uh… corner the cat in the bedroom."

Deaton kept a professional face even as I snickered into my hand. "Great. Lead the way."

When they left, I turned to Scott.

"Do you want me to call Stiles?" Scott was asking. "I think he'd—"

"My brother killed her," I announced, and Scott's mouth hung open. A beat passed before I continued. "It was him. I know it was him."

"Wait," Scott hushed, pulling me farther away from the cops and the neighbors who had come out to see what was happening. "Wait a minute. What are you saying? You don't know that. Why would he—"

"Because he _told_ me he would," I was quickly explaining as I turned to stalk down the sidewalk in the direction of where I knew they were staying. "Because he's fucking crazy, that's why!"

"Savannah, hang on!" Scott exclaimed, chasing closely after me. "Where are you going?"

"I have to find him," I growled. "He's got to pay!"

"What?" Scott barked and actually decided to try and keep me from walking now. He grabbed me by the shoulders and stood right in my path. "Wait! Hang on just a second—"

"It was him!" I looked at Scott with wild eyes. "Are you listening to me? He told me he would do it if I didn't listen to him."

"Listen to him about what?" Scott desperately asked, still firmly gripping my shoulders.

"If I didn't join him," I finally spat out. "If I didn't leave your pack."

"So he killed your foster mom?" Scott shook his head with a confused frown. "That doesn't make any sense."

I shoved his hands off. "It does if you understand how the system works!" I exclaimed.

Scott put his hands up. " _Okay_! So then explain it!"

"Scott, _two_ of my foster mothers have died in less than a month. I've been refusing to stay with either of them. Take that, plus my history with drugs and my previous arrests, and what do you get?"

Scott frowned deeply in thought, frantically trying to understand but falling just short as he shook his head. "I don't know, Savannah! What?"

I shoved his hands off me and took a large step back. "Suspicion!" I exclaimed. "A whole lot of fucking suspicion, that's what. It looks like _I_ did it."

Scott finally understood. His face flooded with surprise, aghast at where he suspected I was going with this. "He's framing you for their deaths?"

I shook my head with a tight jaw.

"Why?" Scott demanded, like he wished he could shake my brother and scream the same question in his face. "Why would he do that to you? You'll go to prison!"

"Exactly," I snapped. "He trying to leave me with no choice."

"Choice about what?" Scott implored.

"So I have to join them!" I finally burst. Scott was stunned into silence as I continued. "Don't you get it? He said if I continue to stick with you and resist him, he'd keep killing my foster parents. But if I do what he wants then he'll stop."

Scott fully understood what it would mean for me to leave the pack; what the alpha pack expects of its new recruits. But Scott was more concerned about a different aspect of how Jack is choosing to manipulate me. "Savannah, if he doesn't stop, you'll go to prison _forever_. Forever!"

I shook my head with a tight jaw. "He knows I won't let that happen."

"There's got to be another way," Scott said with a shake of his head. "Something we can do."

"Scott, I have to go _now_."

His eyes widened and he reared up to tell me a list of reasons why that was a bad idea.

"Trust me, Scott, if I don't do something about quickly he's only going to find ways to make this worse for me."

"Savannah we can't just run blindly into this," He told me. "It could be a trap!"

"There's no trap," I insisted. "This is it! I already fell face first into the huge fucking trap he set for me! He already killed one innocent woman. If I wait to go to him, and I go with you to talk it over with the rest of the pack, how do you think Jack would react?"

Scott shook his head. "He already killed her. He's got nothing else."

I glared at him. "Scott, listen to me. There's no one else that I'm willing to risk."

Scott lifted his hand and I cut him off again.

"None of this matters to him," I told him, waving vaguely around us. "None of it. Everyone _here_ is a walking target. He'll start picking off more and more innocent people, until even _you_ want me to listen to him. He'll start with people who have little to do with me," I told him lowly, my voice quiet. "Like Danny. Or Officer Jefferson. Or even Deaton."

Scott's face morphed into horror at the thought. "He wouldn't…"

"Seriously? You don't believe me? What, was that body bag they wheeled out not _real_ enough for you? Don't ever underestimate them, Scott," I told him. "It'll be the worst mistake you make."

"So what do you want to do?" Scott asked, finally convinced. "What next?"

"Next, I find him," I turned down the sidewalk. "And I talk to him."

"And say what?"

"I don't know Scott!" I exclaimed. "Something will come to mind."

"Okay," Scott hesitantly accepted as he fell into step beside me. "This is a bad idea."

I stopped and he kept walking for half a step before he realized we stopped. "What are you doing?"

"We're going to find Jack," Scott told me, gesturing up the sidewalk.

"No," I slowly told him. "I'm going _alone_. I have to."

"No you don't," Scott firmly shook his head. "I'm going with you."

"That's counterproductive!" I insisted, and Scott vehemently shook his head.

"I don't care! You're not going by yourself!"

"Really? That's weird, because you're not coming!"

"You can't stop me," He told me, standing his ground. My eye twitched because I knew he was right. If he wanted to come, it would be very difficult for me to stop him. "I'll just follow you."

"Why?" I finally asked.

"Because you're my friend," He told me honestly. "And I'm not letting you do this alone."

I stared at him for another few seconds, trying to detect any ulterior motive he might have. But I saw nothing but determination and resolve in his brown eyes, so I sighed and turned away without a word, and Scott quickly followed.

* * *

 ** _Review, please?_**


	73. HIATUS

**Ffnet says we aren't supposed to post authors notes as chapters, sooo... I took a really short snippet from a piece of an unfinished chapter I wrote a couple of months ago and I'll put that in so I can post this and still adhere to the guidelines... also it felt rude to just post a hiatus notification and nothing else XD so here's a short snippet...**

 **Jack's POV**

"Do you think she knows?" Asked Kali.

Jack looked away from the deep, deep hole they stood in front of. "That I'm responsible?"

A car, tiny and pearl colored, went easily down into the pit in the ground. "That her friend is with us," Kali clarified. "That she's running out of time."

Jack crossed his arms and the clouds rumbled in the sky. Rain drops, fat and multiple, splattered the dirt by his boots. A dirty yellow backhoe shook as it climbed across the grass covered earth and pushed a pile of dirt along until it spilled into the hole and over the car. The man operating it wore a white hard hat and had a fresh stream of blood curling down his arm that mixed with the rain.

"I don't know how much clearer I could've been." Jack ran a hand over his hair as the warm rain dripped over him. "It's only a matter of time now."

"Maybe you overestimated her," Kali suggested, not for the first time.

She hesitated at the glare he turned on her. "No," he said. "I know my sister. She'll come."

Kali hummed skeptically. "She's going to be too late. She doesn't even know where to look."

He smiled. "Just trust me."

A crack of thunder introduced the bright white flash of lightning that floodlit the small clearing in the woods, and a girl with dark hair who was tied to a tree gasped awake.

Kali slowly turned to look at Jack, her eyes shining bright red with ire. "I thought you said she was dead!"

His eyebrows cocked as he watched the girl panic and begin to sob in confusion. "She was."

"Then why is she awake?" Kali demanded in a tight voice.

Jack tilted his head. "She... healed."

"How? She's human!"

"Obviously not," Said Deucalion as way of announcing his arrival. His hands rested on the cane in front of him and the girl let out a muffled cry from the tree. "What an _interesting_ twist."

* * *

 **Author's Note: It's been a while, huh? I'm updating this for two reasons:**

 **1) To officially put it on hiatus... I apologize but this fic really got away from me. I'll return to it eventually but for now...**

 **2) To point you in the direction of the fic that I will be focusing on until the muse deigns to come back my way for this fic. Paramnesia! It's in its early stages but I have the whole thing mapped out start to finish so writer's block isn't really a thing that can happen there, unlike here.**

 **I think my writing style and taste has matured so I urge you to give Paramnesia a chance.**

 **I hope you can understand the struggle of writing a fic like this when it's gone so far past what I ever intended it to be. Savannah and her relationship with the TW cast holds a special place in my heart, and because of that, I can't imagine I'll ever truly be done with this fic. But for now, please try to understand and forgive me...**

 **and give Paramnesia a shot to tide you over!**


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